Legacies Part 1
by TheNovice
Summary: The lives of three wizards and the marks they leave on the world around them. - Rated mainly for violence. Written before Order of the Phoenix, and now "AU" Complete (Part 2 to be published seperately)
1. Prelude The Legacy of Albus Dumbledore

Legacies  
  
Let not mercy and truth forsake you; tie them around your neck; write them upon the tablet of your heart  
  
Proverbs 3:3 (MKJV)  
Prelude - The Legacy of Albus Dumbledore  
Crucio!  
  
Draco staggered as the force of the spell hit him. Tendrils of pain wrapped themselves around his muscles, sank their teeth into his tendons and began gnawing at his bones. He fought the pain as long as he could, but soon found himself prostrate on the ground as unbelievable agony enveloped his body and pulsated through every cell of his body.  
  
Even when the pain ceased to renew itself, and Draco knew that the spell had ended, the lingering march of stiletto heeled hippogriffs through his anatomy remained. He gasped for air, and clawed at the soft earth beneath him. Despite hoods and masks, the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy, his father, was easily identifiable. Pale gray eyes pierced both the darkness of shadow and the lingering haze of pain, blazing contempt towards anything that might writhe on the ground in such a manner, especially if that thing happened to be his own son.  
  
"Do you accept your place as my servant and swear the obedience to me that is rightfully mine?"  
  
Draco tried to speak, but found his voice to be simply a hoarse croak. He must have screamed more than he had been aware. He had seen others under the effect of the cruciatus, and had thought them weak and pathetic. Not that he'd ever had any intentions of experiencing such a thing, but he had been sure, that if he were ever the target, it would be different, that he was stronger, more resistant. He was no longer able to maintain that illusion.  
  
"Answer me, Worm! Or do you wish to learn the consequences of disobedience already?"  
  
"Y-Yes, My Lord. I will obey. I swear it with my life." Speaking required energy Draco didn't think he had, but some how he managed.  
  
"You can not bargain with what is already mine, Worm. The sooner you realize that, the better. You have however, answered well. Stand and receive my mark."  
  
Slowly, Draco pulled himself to his feet where he wavered unsteadily. "Yes, My Lord" he murmured as he bared his arm and extended it. In a flash, the dark figure before him produced a dagger and sliced a six-inch wound along the length of Draco's fore arm. Blood immediately welled forward and began dripping to the ground, forming small puddles that glistened in the flickering firelight. Roughly the figure brought the wound to his mouth and began to drink the blood. Pouring from Draco's artery.  
  
"You have nothing that is not mine, and do not think for a second that I will not cease your pitiful existence should the whim strike me. You are mine."  
  
On a cue unnoticed by Draco as his surrounding spun uneasily around him, another hooded figure stepped forward with a white-hot piece of metal. The speaker took the glowing brand and mashed it into Draco's open wound. Draco collapsed under the fresh assault of pain. It was not the cruciatus, it was far to localized for that. But where the all-encompassing pain of the unforgivable curse quickly forced one into a detached consciousness, this new assault left him aware enough to experience every agonizing second.  
  
He was released, and gravity pulled him gracelessly to the ground. Unable to move, and with the smell of his own burnt flesh strong in his nostrils, Draco gave up all pretense of pride and let the darkness envelop him. He had taken the first step towards his destiny tonight. He was a Death Eater.  
  
Stars flickered overhead, blinking at Draco as he could not blink in return. The ceremony was over and the crowd of Death Eaters began to disperse. Draco's field of view remained fixed - even the energy required to move his eyes remained at arm's length. Shadows fleeted and evaporated around the periphery of his vision, until only one remained. One shadow, with that same wilting glare that had haunted him since childhood remained. The gaze flickered then doused itself, then that shadow too, like all the others faded away.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ronald Weasley stepped uneasily off of the rickety contraption know as the Knight Bus. No sooner had his feet touched the ground, than the noisy vehicle lurched forward and apparated towards its next destination with a loud bang. A whooshing of air filled the space where it had once been.  
  
Ron took a deep breath to steel his resolve, ran his hand over his head to smooth his surprisingly slicked down hair, and made a gesture at straightening out the unfamiliar Muggle clothing he wore. Satisfied he could do no more, he stepped off of the coarse gray pavement of the street onto the neat brick sidewalk before him, and up the walkway to the house before him. Taking another anxious breath, he knocked on the door.  
  
Seconds later, a handsomely dressed woman answered. "May I help you?" she asked politely.  
  
Ron's heart pounded savagely in his chest. "Yes, ma'am. I'm here to see Hermione," he answered as calmly as he could.  
  
The woman smiled at him warmly. "You must be Ron then. I'm Hermione's mum. Please, come in."  
  
Ron followed her through the finest house he had ever seen. The rooms were furnished in brightly polished antiques, surrounded by pastel walls, decorated by demure paintings, Ron was sure represented fine art. He began to second guess himself and wonder at the wisdom of his coming here.  
  
"Hermione! You have a visitor!" The woman called out. Ron sat uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa he had been shown to.  
  
A few seconds later, Hermione came bouncing down the stairs in a yellow print sundress, her hair following in a cloud behind her. Ron's face brightened visibly as the room filled with her presence.  
  
"Ron, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, but not nearly with the warmth with which Ron had hoped.  
  
"Oh. You know, came to meet your mother.:  
  
"Ron! You did no such thing!"  
  
"I came to see you, of course. I wanted to ask you something." Ron tapered off.  
  
"Did you decide to buckle down and start studying for your OWLS early? I'm impressed," Hermione smiled.  
  
"The world does not revolve around OWLS, Hermione! Honestly, sometimes I don't know why I bother."  
  
"Why do you bother, Ron?"  
  
"Because.. I care about you, Hermione."  
  
Hermione's expression softened. "I care about you too, Ron. So what did you come to ask?"  
  
Ron inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. "I came to ask you not to go to Bulgaria."  
  
Hermione frowned, "And why shouldn't I?"  
  
"Viktor, he's all wrong for you. He goes to a school most famous for producing dark wizards. He."  
  
"And you don't think I am capable of making a wise decision on my own? You think I need your help?" Hermione's voice was raised, her face flushed, and as if responding to her anger, her hair seemed to become even bushier.  
  
Ron deflated, and his eyes turned towards the floor. "No," he answered, "it's not that."  
  
"Well, what is it then?" Hermione demanded.  
  
Ron's face reddened. "I.like you, Hermione"  
  
"And I like you too, Ron"  
  
"I more than like you. I was hoping that you felt the same way and wouldn't go see Viktor because of that." Ron's face very nearly matched the color of his hair now.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Ron, I won't go to Bulgaria"  
  
"You won't?" Ron looked up and his expression transformed into a broad grin. "And the other."  
  
Hermione smiled at him. "I feel that way about you too."  
  
The mood became awkward. Each of them began to fidget unsure what to do next. Ron took a step closer and began to lean in. Hesitantly, Hermione did the same until their lips just began to touch. Lips on lips, they both began to relax a bit.  
  
They broke away from the kiss with broad grins on their faces, staring into each other's eyes. Hermione started to giggle and Ron laughed in return. They made another attempt to kiss, but this only made them laugh harder.  
  
"Ok, that's enough," Hermione spat out, trying desperately to keep a straight face.  
  
Ron nodded in agreement, but kept the silly grin plastered across his face. "So you'll be my girlfriend?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Yes, but." she said with her expression turning serious.  
  
Ron's expression quickly followed suit. "But?" he asked.  
  
"It's kind of hard to explain really," Hermione answered, pulling her fingers back through her hair. "I don't want to be just a girlfriend. I. we. have important things to do in our life. Since we became friends, I've never been able to imagine the future without you in it. You, Harry, and I have big things ahead of us. I want to make a mark on the world, but I want to do it as Hermione, not as Ron's girlfriend."  
  
"Hermione," Ron said softly, eyes wide with sincerity. "How can you think that would ever be possible? You are the smartest witch who ever lived. I'm much more likely to go through life as 'Hermione's boyfriend' than you are as 'Ron's girlfriend'. I do understand how you feel though. I have similar feelings myself."  
  
"About me?" asked Hermione, taken aback.  
  
"No, never about you," Ron answered. "I've always been 'another one of those Weasleys'. I want to be someone in my own right, be known for something I've done as an individual. Being friends with you and Harry has been great in some ways, but in others, it has just made things worse. Now, when I'm not a Weasley, I'm Harry's sidekick. Harry is my friend, but I don't want to live my whole life in his shadow."  
  
Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "You're more than that, Ron," she whispered. "Together, we'll make sure of that. With my brains and your spirit, we can do anything together."  
  
"Don't forget the good looks," Ron grinned. "I am blessed that way."  
  
"Really, Ron," Hermione replied indignantly, her hair bristling again. "Sometimes you are just too much."  
  
"It is a burden to have this much charm and good looks you know," Ron said smugly. "You should be relieved that you don't have to deal with it."  
  
"So you're implying that I'm neither good looking nor charming?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow and an expression quickly approaching anger.  
  
"Of course not," answered Ron with a crooked grin. "You can be very charming."  
  
Hermione drew back and slapped at him. Ron deflected her blow easily. "You're so full of yourself, Ronald Weasley. Someday, someone is going to knock you down a peg and wipe that silly grin off of your face."  
  
Ron's smile only grew. "It won't be you though," he said defiantly. Hermione swung with her other hand and again, Ron easily deflected it. "Did I ever tell you," he asked, "that you're stunning when you're angry?"  
  
"You're a git, you know," Hermione's face flickered with anger. Ron winked at her in reply. Hermione moved closer until their lips touched once again. Arms wrapped themselves in knots, clinging tightly as hands ran through hair and caressed tender, back-of-neck skin. Eyes closed and the world of sight and sound vanished and was replaced by one of tactile sensation and the simple overwhelming need to be as close as possible.  
  
"Hermione Granger! What are you doing?"  
  
As if doused by ice water, they both turned around in shock. Mrs. Granger stood in the doorway holding a tray with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. Her expression was one of total disbelief.  
  
Mortified, Ron stuttered and stammered. "I think I had better be going."  
  
"Yes," Mrs. Granger nodded emphatically, "I think you should."  
  
Ron made straight for the door, only turning around once. "I'll owl you, Hermione"  
  
Hermione smiled at him. "Good bye, Ron. I'll owl you too."  
  
Quietly Ron closed the door and was gone.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry stepped out of the Burrow and into open night air. The night was alive with sounds - frogs and crickets laid down a two-part rhythm while owls hooted softly and nigh insects buzzed in counterpoint all topped off by the intermittent rustle of leaves in the gentle summer breeze. There was one final piece to the nocturnal symphony though, the one that had driven Harry outside in the first place - A harsh staccato "Harry!" first in a male voice, then in a female voice.  
  
Ignoring the call of his name, Harry slipped into a small hollow in the hedgerow that separated what was Weasley in the world from what was not. He had discovered it one day while de-gnoming the garden and claimed it as his own. At the time, he had thought of it warmly, that in this of all places, he was at home enough to have a little spot for himself. Now however, that he was using it as a refuge from his friends, it brought him little comfort.  
  
Leaves and small branches embraced him as he settled down to make himself comfortable. As much as anyplace else, the Burrow was home. He could almost feel himself drawing strength from the ground he sat on and from the air he breathed. It wasn't fair that 'they' had to make things miserable for him. Staring at the night sky through a green filter, he allowed himself to relax and his mind to wander, unfocussed, across the landscape of his life.  
  
He felt restless and discontent, unable to maintain focus. The comfort he'd sought to find here had eluded him. His friends were busy discovering new facets to each other. It was understandable of course, and in the same circumstances he was sure that he would be doing the same. This was a dangerous train of thought, not a path he wanted to tread, but the lure was too strong for him to ignore.  
  
Those were circumstances he just couldn't allow. Maybe someday, but not now, no matter how much he wanted it. To be Harry Potter was to be alone, it seemed, and maybe it was better that way. People died around him, bad things happened to them.it was probably best for all parties concerned. He'd seen Cho at Cedric's funeral, and he could imagine how Ron or Hermione might react if one lost the other. He could not imagine though how he might react if he were to lose someone so close. To whom would he turn then? Loneliness was just something he would have to learn to cope with.  
  
Why couldn't he have a normal life? Not Dursley normalcy, obviously - he had no desire to give up wizardry. He wanted to have a real life though: to have parents and a family of his own, to have friends without worrying that his presence might shorten their life span, to be able to look forward to a future that didn't include the certainty of his own untimely death.  
  
Some time later, he could tell because the moon had risen and begun to arc its way across the sky, there was a new strain added to the nocturnal music, a soft and delicate sotto voce to offset the atonality that caused him to flee.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Harry remained silent, unwilling to give up his tranquility.  
  
"I know you're out here. I saw you leave. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."  
  
"I'm fine," Harry answered. "I just needed a bit of quiet and fresh air - to clear my mind."  
  
"And no wonder with the racket those two are making."  
  
Harry turned so that he could see the speaker. It was Ginny of course, who else would come to see where he'd gone off to? She was standing there near the door, in her summer dress, and with a sweater thrown over her shoulders. The silvery light of the moon reflected from her hair, and seemed to simply hover around her outline in an ethereal glow. It was an otherworldly sight, one that momentarily took his breath away.  
  
"I'll leave you alone, then" Ginny said and turned towards the door.  
  
"Wait. Don't go." Harry said, almost instantly wondering why he'd done so.  
  
Ginny turned without question, and took a seat beneath the tree, using its trunk as a backrest. Harry studied her closely from his hiding place. There, in the shadows, the moonlight was gone and it was the same Ginny he'd known for four years, but still he studied as if seeing her for the first time. She didn't have the austere beauty of Cho Chang, but there was something about her, something in the eyes and something else - a flame that seemed to radiate outward. Once aware of it, he could feel its warmth, and wondered why he'd never noticed it before.  
  
The door rattled open, and a shock of red hair emerged. "Ginny," it demanded, "have you seen Harry?"  
  
Harry cringed but Ginny spoke up before he could even decide what to do. "No, I haven't seen him - at least not out here. Have you looked upstairs?"  
  
"Where could he be hiding?" Ron wondered aloud. "I swear, living with those Muggles has rattled his brain." The door slammed shut and they were alone again.  
  
"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said softly "You didn't have to lie for me though"  
  
"I didn't lie," Ginny answered with a smile, "I haven't actually seen you. You're there in the bushes and for all I know, you might be using ventriloquism."  
  
Harry couldn't help but smile to himself. Something in her eyes, he thought to himself, they can see me even when I am hidden.  
  
"Can I ask you a question, Harry?"  
  
"Sure," Harry replied.  
  
"Are you jealous? Of Ron and Hermione, I mean."  
  
"No," Harry answered emphatically, but then paused to think about his answer. "Yes. No. Not really. I miss my friends, I miss it being the three of us instead of those two and then me. I miss being able to talk to them instead everything being an argument, or a power play with me caught in the middle. I am glad that they are happy - if they are happy, but I need my friends. I've come to depend on them more than I realized, and without them I'm simply alone."  
  
"No, Harry" Ginny said, shaking her head, "You are never alone."  
  
The words and the way that Ginny said them hit Harry like a weight. The unidentifiable something began to resolve itself. Harry contemplated the implications but remained unsure of what to do about it. He had an idea of what he was supposed to do, he had seen enough Muggle movies to recognize such a moment, but unsure of his own feelings, such actions seemed false.  
  
A storm raged with in his chest. This thing that he wanted so badly - he didn't even really know what it was, but he knew that it was what Ginny was offering him. He had denied himself even the idea of it for so long, not even allowing himself to think about it, that he no longer knew even how to accept it once it was freely offered.  
  
When he was completely honest with himself, he didn't know if he was capable of this, or even if he should allow it. The image of Cedric's cold and lifeless body came unbidden to his mind, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, reminding him of the consequences one faced being anywhere near him. What if Ginny were to suffer the same fate? How would he live with himself if that were to happen?  
  
There was another side to the argument though. There were no graphic images to promote it, only a small voice that asked hard questions. Would he live the rest of his life in fear? Would he allow the possibility of tragedy, a possibility that everyone faced, regardless of who they were, force him into solitude for the rest of his life?  
  
There were no clear paths on the road of life, but one had to walk them just the same. He didn't know which was the right one, but he was never one to give in to fear. There were a lot of unknowns, but he knew that he didn't want to simply push Ginny away. He would make his own way. He stood up, emerging from his hiding place. Leaves decorated his shoulders like confetti.  
  
"I don't know what to say, Ginny," he said taking a new seat near, but facing her.  
  
"You don't have to say anything," Ginny answered. "I know where I stand. on the outside that is. but my heart doesn't care about that. I don't know what I am to you - just Ron's little sister perhaps, or maybe just another silly girl with a silly crush, but to me this is real. I don't know what to do, or what I can do, but trust me Harry, as long as I am breathing, you will never, ever be alone."  
  
"I wish that I could tell you I felt the same way," started Harry, "but I really don't know how I feel. I feel something, but I don't know what to call it. I'm honored, and flattered, and. something, but I need to take the time to figure out what that is. I don't think you're silly though."  
  
Ginny's nodded thoughtfully, not really sure of her own feelings at the moment. "Take all of the time you need."  
  
"I can promise you one thing," Harry said. "You won't be on the outside anymore. At the very least we can be friends."  
  
Ginny smiled. "At the very least," she added.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"Albus," Professor McGonagall exclaimed, "You know that this is a trap, how can you simply play into his hands this way?"  
  
"Because it is what I must do, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore answered quietly. "Life is but a stage and we are merely players. Each of us must play our part, some short and some long. Mine has been longer than most and it is not yet over. Divination aside, the future is not written until it becomes the past and even then all is not necessarily as it seems."  
  
"Nice metaphor, but I rather doubt that the prowess of You-Know-Who extends to Muggle literature. Words do not change the reality of the situation we now face."  
  
"Never underestimate the power of the metaphor, dear friend. The time has come that I must depart. Remember what you must do. The others will not be so easily persuaded, but you must prevail."  
  
"I give you my word, Albus."  
  
"Goodbye, Minerva. I will miss you."  
  
"Goodbye, Albus" Professor Dumbledore did not hear her though, and the space where he had stood only seconds before was now filled by empty air.  
  
Professor Dumbledore stepped cautiously though crumbling stone pillars, past fallen buttresses towards the inner keep of an ancient castle. The air was filled with the tang of salt, the crash of surf, and the roar of wind blowing in from the Irish Sea. The old wizard moved deliberately towards massive oaken doors, amazingly intact given their surroundings. With a casual flick of his wand, the doors opened and he stepped inside.  
  
Inside was a relative term. The interior of the keep was in no better shape than the exterior. The Western Wall had collapsed to give what might have been a splendid view under other conditions. As the professor made his way though the debris, shadows moved around the periphery of his vision. Heedless, Dumbledore continued until he reached the fallen outer wall and looked out over the sea below him.  
  
"I didn't bring you here to admire the view, old man" said a voice, dry and harsh, like scales across gravel.  
  
"You are late, Tom," Dumbledore answered without turning to face the speaker. "I remember you as always being the prompt one. Perhaps the years in the void have dulled your sense of propriety. Besides, when one is as old as I am, one learns that such sights are not to be taken for granted."  
  
"Propriety." spat Lord Voldemort, "You speak of such things, and then use that filthy Muggle name. You are no longer my professor, and even if you were, it wouldn't change the fact that you are a silly, old fool. You were when I was your student, and you are more the fool for all the years that have passed. The years have brought you senility while they have brought me strength and power. Your time is done, and mine is now."  
  
At last Dumbledore turned to face his former student. From out of the night sky, a very aged Phoenix arrived and landed on his shoulder. Lord Voldemort laughed.  
  
"Time has addled you," the Dark Lord laughed. "I really did expect some trickery from you, some sort of reinforcements, but a bird?"  
  
"A Phoenix," Dumbledore answered.  
  
"I can see that it's a Phoenix," hissed Voldemort. "A very tired and ancient Phoenix. as tired and old as you," he added with a sneer.  
  
Dumbledore brought the bird down to perch on his wrist. "You would be wise not to underestimate the power of the Phoenix, Tom Riddle. To do so might very easily be your undoing."  
  
Voldemort looked at his old professor with an incredulous expression, then at the feathered creature the same way. As if his gaze held a power all its own, the phoenix immediately burst into flames. In mere seconds, the magical bird existed only as a pile of ashes on the old stone floor.  
  
Once again, Voldemort laughed. "You silly, old, pathetic, git! You're barely worth the magic it will require to kill you."  
  
Albus Dumbledore's face remained devoid of all expression, and he made no response.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!" Lord Voldemort shouted, and a bolt of sickly green energy leapt from his wand. Professor Dumbledore's body fell to the ground lifeless and bearing the same void expression.  
  
Voldemort's face held a look of contempt. "How disappointing," he drawled. "I was at least hoping for a struggle, maybe a bit of pleading." He spat at the corpse and turned to head towards the door. "Come, there is more work to be done."  
  
From out of the shadows, a host of black-hooded figures emerged to follow their master into the darkness of night.  
  
Long after their departure something stirred in the ruined keep. On the old stone floor, lay a pile of ashes, and from that small acrid mound emerged the beak of a newborn Phoenix  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The air rumbled with the sound of ancient voices. A full dozen of England's most powerful wizards voiced their opinions over the recent turn of events.  
  
"How could Dumbledore have been such a fool?"  
  
"I've never been one to question the Albus' wisdom," grumbled the oldest of those present. "but he has left us in a terrible position. The Dark Lord grows stronger by the minute, and now we are without both a leader and the strongest of our number. Albus Dumbledore was more than just a powerful wizard, he was a symbol. Three generations of Wizards have slept more soundly at night knowing that he was there to defend them. The magic he wielded might possibly be compensated for by numbers, but without a uniting symbol, those numbers are never going to appear."  
  
Professor McGonagall stood and cleared her throat. Somewhat to her surprise, the room quieted. "No one here was closer to Albus than I, and no one feels his loss more keenly. I cannot claim to know exactly what he was thinking when he voluntarily walked to his own doom, but I do know that he didn't do so lightly, and neither did he do so without taking the issues you have raised into account."  
  
"He would have done well to have shared with the rest of us." The old one mumbled. "You-Know-Who will not let this time of weakness pass un- exploited."  
  
"You make it sound as if we are completely defenseless, Walpole" spoke a new voice. "The Auror Corps has redoubled its efforts and stands constantly vigilant. When the Dark Lord moves, we will be there to meet him."  
  
"No one is questioning the dedication of the Aurors, Mr. Moody but how many fully trained Aurors do you have? A few hundred at best, and of those, how many of them can you be absolutely assured of their loyalty? How many Aurors changed sides during You-Know-Who's last rise to power?"  
  
"Now see here!" Mad Eye Moody roared. "My Aurors are out there every day putting there lives on the line, and I will not stand for you calling their loyalty into question."  
  
"It's not a matter of loyalty, Moody," another old wizard voiced.  
  
"That's right," resumed Walpole, "It's a matter of numbers. If the forces of darkness increase in numbers, then the forces of light must do the same or perish. To rally the good witches and wizards of England together requires a leader. The sword of Gryffindor must be unsheathed, but by whose hand?"  
  
Professor McGonagall, who had remained standing through this exchange, once again cleared her voice. "There is one," she said quietly. The room became silent and all eyes turned to face her.  
  
"For all the wrangling of this council throughout the long ages, the sword of Gryffindor has always chosen its own bearer. When we have opposed the will of the sword it has always been to our own sorrow. The sword has in fact chosen a new bearer. Ours is but to decide whether to accept the will of the sword or assert our own, more fallible, judgment."  
  
"What are you holding out on us, Minerva?" Walpole demanded.  
  
Mad Eye Mood laughed. "I think I know. I don't doubt that he would take up the burden, but would the people follow him?"  
  
"I don't know, Alastair," answered Professor McGonagall, "but Albus believed that they would."  
  
"Merlin's ale-soaked beard!" roared Walpole "Would you please tell us whom you're speaking of?"  
  
"Harry Potter," Professor McGonagall answered flatly.  
  
Once again the room rumbled with the sound of voices, and this time no amount of voice clearing would silence it. When at last the din died down of its own accord, Professor McGonagall continued. "You all know the story of his childhood. Besides that, both the sword and the phoenix have chosen him, and bearing the sword he challenged and defeated Salazar Slytherin's own Basilisk. What clearer sign is needed?"  
  
"He's only a child, not even fully trained as a wizard."  
  
"He is unruly and uncontrollable."  
  
"How can one of his age be ready for such a burden?"  
  
"Are you seriously asking us to put the fate of England, and perhaps the world into the hands of a mere lad?"  
  
The objections continued, but strangely enough Old Walpole remained silent.  
  
When the room had had quieted enough that she could be heard again, Professor McGonagall once again spoke. "There is no denying that Mr. Potter is young, and like many in their youth, he is reckless. He is courageous though, and never, no matter how reckless, has he ever turned away from responsibility. As the head of his house, I must admit that he has a certain disregard for the letter of the law, but never has he violated its spirit or its intent. In his four and a half years at Hogwarts, he has consistently risked his own safety for the well-being of his friends and fellow students."  
  
An old wizard in the back, Miles Grimsby, spoke. "I won't argue young Potter's bravery. This council is well aware of his past exploits. However, questions still remain. Can we be sure that the power we entrust to him will not be turned against us? Can he lead and will people follow one so young? Can he put aside his own bravery, or the lives of his friends, for the greater good?"  
  
Alastair Moody once again rose to his feet. "I've trained a lot of Aurors in my time and I've met young Harry. He is his father's son in every way. He would sooner die before he would yield to the Dark One. I can't speak for the rest of England, but if it comes to it, I'll follow him."  
  
"There is still the matter of his training," Grimsby objected.  
  
"Training can be arranged," Moody countered, "It's the heart that matters most, and Harry Potter has heart."  
  
Walpole raised himself to his feet, which was a rare enough occurrence to silence what discussion remained in the room. "I have never been one to accept the word of Albus simply on faith," he started. A slight chuckle arose from this. "But no matter how often I may have protested to the contrary, Albus Dumbledore was no fool, and in this matter least of all. If Albus had one talent in life, it was that he could see the hearts of men, no matter what tale their exterior might tell. Harry Potter maybe young and he may be reckless, but I believe that he is the one to lead our fight, and that the Wizardry of England will follow him. Harry Potter is a symbol and has been his whole life -He is 'The Boy Who Lived'. There is not a single Wizard or Witch in England that does not know his name, from the Dark Lord himself down to the youngest Squib of a toddler. If Mr. Potter, boy or man, takes up the sword and calls, the people will follow. The sword has chosen him, the Phoenix has chosen him, Dumbledore chose him, Alastair Moody supports him, and for what its worth, so do I."  
  
There was a moment of quiet murmuring. Professor McGonagall resumed the floor, determined not to lose momentum. "Let's vote then." The process of voting took but a few moments and the results were clear.  
  
"Well then," rumbled Walpole, "Summon Mr. Potter." 


	2. Chapter 1 The Incident at Privet Lane

Legacies - Part 1: The Legacy of Lord Voldemort  
Chapter One - The Incident at Privet Lane  
  
Harry's head ached as he stared at the clock, willing it to move forward, but to no avail. He went over his mental checklist again although he knew that everything was in order. Hedwig was in her cage, his belongings were carefully packed away in his trunk, and the sword. the sword hung invisibly at his side.  
  
"The sword is a relic of power beyond all value. The sword and this council have chosen you as its bearer. This carries great responsibility and great danger. With this sword, you are a symbol of hope to our people and a target to our enemies. If you should fall, or the sword is lost, the hope we have against darkness falls or is lost as well."  
  
The words still rang heavy in his head. He had been the first student to learn of Professor Dumbledore's death in the early spring, and he still keenly felt that loss. He did not feel worthy or capable of this burden, but knew in his heart that it was one he had to accept. His role remained secret for the most part. The council and selected members of the Hogwarts faculty made up the majority of those who knew - besides them, there was the Auror who had been assigned to keep watch over him for the summer and those he had told: Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.  
  
Since that night in March, when he had been roused from his sleep, and brought to stand before the group of ancient wizards and witches, his life had become a maelstrom of activity. He carried the sword, but he had to be taught to use it. His evenings and weekends had become a blur of endless training and practice in the arts of war and magic not normally taught to students at Hogwarts. His role was to be kept secret for as long as possible and he had been told to carry on with his life as normally as he could. Normal for him meant Quidditch and time with his friends when he wasn't so exhausted that he couldn't stand.  
  
His friends were his bastions of reality. Ron and Hermione remained a couple and as fiery as ever. They were all fire and brimstone one instant, all snogs and smiles the next, with precious little time in between. It would have driven him crackers by now if it hadn't been for Ginny. Ever since that summer evening last year, Ginny had remained steadfastly by his side. She read his moods with uncanny precision and always seemed to know the right thing to do or say - to give him quiet when he needed it, to make idle chatter when he needed distraction, or to listen when he needed to talk.  
  
Ginny occupied an increasing place in his mind. What were they to each other? He didn't know for sure. more than friends, but less than boyfriend and girlfriend. He still had no name for what he felt for her, but he knew that he felt better when she was there, and missed her when she wasn't. When he had learned he was still expected to spend his summer with the Dursleys, she had promised to write him everyday. She had more than kept that promise. Despite the letters, he missed her presence, and had counted the days until he could see her again.  
  
Today was the day. The Dursleys sensing his anxiety had gone to great lengths to make his last hours as miserable as possible. Dudley taunted him, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon discovered an endless list of things that had to be done before he would be allowed to leave. Harry worked at the list but knew that no power, magical or otherwise was going to keep him from leaving once Mr. Weasley showed up to bring him back to the Burrow. As the hour finally approached, his attention wandered.  
  
"Boy!" roared Uncle Vernon, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"  
  
Harry snapped to awareness and noticed that he had severely over trimmed the hedges that outlined the suburban Dursley residence. "Sorry, Uncle Vernon," he murmured. He hadn't thought it possible, but the pounding in his head, emanating from his scar had grown worse. This was always a sign of trouble to come, but he was determined not to let it ruin his day - not this day.  
  
"Sorry? I have half a mind to have you replant the whole lot of them! Those freakish friends of yours be damned. Apparently, whatever they teach you at that 'school' of yours doesn't include how to accomplish a simple task like trimming shrubbery. I should have known better than to trust the likes of you with a sharp object.. Now go inside and get cleaned up before those odd friends of yours arrive."  
  
Harry chuckled to himself as the weight of the unseen sword tugged at his waist. He had visions of drawing the sword and showing Uncle Vernon exactly what a sharp object was, but decided instead to take the opportunity to retreat while it was offered. His time with the Dursleys was rapidly coming to an end, he told himself, no need to make it more miserable than was necessary.  
  
Upstairs he washed away the dirt and grime of his labors and changed into the most presentable of his ill-fitting clothes. One last time, he went over his checklist, and again was satisfied that he had remembered everything. Content, he returned downstairs to wait the remaining ten minutes of his summer incarceration.  
  
At precisely three o'clock there was a flash in the hearth. When the fire and cloud of ash subsided, three new figures stood in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry quickly identified them as Mr. Weasley, Ron and Hermione. He looked for a fourth figure and was disappointed not to find one.  
  
"Hello, Harry," said Mr. Weasley with a broad smile on his face. "Ginny sends her regrets that she couldn't come along."  
  
"Fred and George turned her hair green," explained Ron, "They said it would match the color of your eyes that way."  
  
Hermione hit Ron on the shoulder. "You just had to add that bit in, didn't you?" she demanded. "It's bad enough those brothers of yours had to ruin Ginny's plans, but do you really have to rub it in?"  
  
"I'm just telling Harry what happened," Ron replied defensively "Harry enjoys a good prank as much as anyone, don't you Harry?"  
  
"Enough," interjected Mr. Weasley, "I'm quite sure that Fred and George will pay handsomely for their little joke, and if you aren't careful Ron, you'll be paying along with them. Now come along, Harry. Let's gather your things. Molly is preparing quite a feast for your arrival."  
  
Harry led his friends up the stairs towards his room. On reaching the second floor, they heard a series of pops. Hermione cocked her head pensively. "Odd," she said, "that sounded like someone apparating."  
  
"What's so odd about that?" Ron asked. "People apparate all the time."  
  
"Not here, they don't" Harry said with a worried expression. His headache began to fade though, so he wasn't sure what to make of it.  
  
Mr. Weasley's face became grim and he drew his wand. Following his lead, the younger wizards did the same. Mr. Weasley motioned for them to lower their wands. As they did so however, the house shook with the sound of a loud explosion, and the sound of splintering wood.  
  
"Down!" hissed Mr. Weasley.  
  
"Find Potter, and bring him to me. Unharmed!" A harsh voiced ordered, "and be quick about it, we don't have all day!"  
  
The sound of many trampling feet was heard. Harry motioned his companions to take refuge in a doorway. Inside, they quickly huddled. "Death Eater! What are they doing here?" asked Ron.  
  
"They've come for me, obviously," Harry stated flatly. "The question is how?"  
  
"The magical shields had to be lowered so that we could come to fetch you," Mr. Weasley whispered. "They are only lowered for a very short time. Somehow, they found out when and have taken advantage of the situation."  
  
"How is that possible?" asked Hermione. "Surely there can't be that many people who knew of Harry's visit?  
  
"I don't know" answered Mr. Weasley. "It's something that will have to be looked into later though. You-Know-Who must be aware of your new status Harry, to be willing to risk such a bold move."  
  
"So what are we going to do?" asked Ron.  
  
"Escape if we can, otherwise fight them off until some kind of help arrives." Harry answered.  
  
The sound of footsteps was heard on the stairs. Mr. Weasley went to the door and peered through the crack. He held up two fingers. Harry nodded and brought his wand to the ready. Mr. Weasley brought his hand to the doorknob and threw it open. Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped into the hallway and hurled curses at the invaders. Both figures, garbed in black cloaks fell. Mr. Weasley had cast a petrifus totalus causing his target to freeze, then topple, while Harry had used a disarming curse to hurl the second backwards down the stairs, where he landed in a crumpled heap.  
  
"Upstairs!" came the cry. There was the sound of more running. A sprinting black figure appeared and started to bound up the stairs. "Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and the newcomer landed atop his companion.  
  
"Bloody Fool!" responded the voice that Harry decided must be the leader of the raid. It wasn't a voice he recognized though. Harry and Mr. Weasley slid into the room across the hall from the one they had previously occupied.  
  
"We're trapped up here." Mr. Weasley whispered, "Unless you know another way out."  
  
Harry shook his head grimly, then shrugged. "We could go out the windows, maybe"  
  
"What if there are more outside?" The elder wizard asked.  
  
"Help should be here before too long," Harry offered "this place is closely watched. As a matter of fact, I wonder where the Auror is that is supposed to be guarding me?"  
  
Harry crept to the window and peered past the drapes. On the street below there were several more black-robed death eaters and the fallen form he recognized as his guardian Auror. He was struck by grief that this man had died trying to defend him  
  
"No help, from that quarter," Harry whispered as he returned to Mr. Weasley's side. "What about MLES? Won't they come to investigate the unauthorized use of magic?"  
  
"We can only hope," Mr. Weasley answered.  
  
They heard the creak of a floorboard. "Stairs," Harry mouthed. Mr. Weasley answered with a gesture that they would launch spells and cross the hall to rejoin Ron and Hermione. On Mr. Weasley's signal, they once again launched themselves into the hallway. Mr. Weasley cast an Expelliarmus spell at the first shape he saw and was rewarded with a thud as another Death Eater met the wall. Harry took a different tactic and cast a Reductor spell at the stairs themselves. The result was a shower of splinters and a gaping hole where the stairs had once been. The two wizards tumbled into the room to find Ron and Hermione waiting for them.  
  
"Good thinking, Harry" Mr. Weasley said, breathing heavily. "If we can't get out, at least they'll have a hard time getting up here."  
  
"Aunt Petunia is going to kill me," Harry said.  
  
Yelling and cursing were heard from downstairs. The four trapped wizards paced wondering what was next.  
  
"We need help," Hermione said, "I can't believe that it's possible to cause this much disturbance without drawing some sort of attention. "What about the telephone, Harry? Maybe we could call the police."  
  
Harry shook his head. "The only one is downstairs. Dudley used to have one, but he developed a habit for calling pay chat lines, and Uncle Vernon had it removed."  
  
"Why don't we just send an owl, like normal people?" Ron asked.  
  
"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed. "Hedwig is in my room next door, I'll slip down there and send a note to Professor McGonagall."  
  
"Mr. Weasley," asked Hermione, "Why don't you just apparate?"  
  
Mr. Weasley shook his head "Leave you three here alone? Never."  
  
"But you could get help, and be right back." Hermione objected. "We can take care of ourselves for a few minutes."  
  
"She's right," Harry insisted. "It's the best way."  
  
Reluctantly Mr. Weasley rose to his feet and attempted the Apparate spell. Nothing happened, so he tried again with the same result. "It's being blocked," he said. "The wards must have been restored."  
  
"Harry Potter," said a magically amplified voice. "Surrender yourself and your companions. You can't escape."  
  
All eyes turned to him. "Tell them to go to hell, mate," Ron said bravely. Hermione nodded at him.  
  
Harry cast a Sonorus spell to amplify his own voice. "Why don't you come up here and get me?" he challenged.  
  
"Fine," answered the voice, "We'll play it your way."  
  
There was a loud crash and the floor beneath them buckled and cracked, but held. "They're going to tear the house down!" Mr. Weasley said.  
  
"We should retreat," Harry answered, "Back to my room. We can send Hedwig and stall for time. Ron, you and Hermione go first - it's the last door on the left."  
  
Again, with wands ready, the door was opened. There were four Death Eaters were waiting for them in the hall. A quick volley of spells was cast in both directions as Ron and Hermione retreated down the hall. One of the Death Eaters cast an Incendio spell at the ceiling, which immediately burst into flames.  
  
Mr. Weasley and Harry rushed the Death Eaters. At close quarters, Harry pocketed his wand and drew his sword, which flashed immediately into visibility. Seeing the object of their raid at hand, the enemy turned their attentions toward him. The first one rushed Harry and instantly fell back as the sword of Gryffindor tore a scarlet gash across his abdomen. Mr. Weasley disabled another with a binding charm.  
  
There were two Death Eaters remaining, and they stood in fighting stances just out of sword range. The fire in the ceiling began to spread and the hallway was becoming full of smoke. Harry began to retreat down the hallway with Mr. Weasley at his side. Behind them they could hear Ron casting extinguishing charms, but the volume of smoke warned that he wasn't having much success.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione cast a disarming charm at one of the remaining Death Eaters. The remaining Dark Wizard continued to advance however. With his eyes watering and gagging from the smoke, Harry stepped forward to meet him.  
  
The Death Eater brandished his wand as a weapon, crouched low and stood his ground. Harry feinted at him, but the wizard dodged. Harry returned to the ready stance awaiting his opponent's next move. The Death Eater began a gesture with his wand. Harry rolled to his left and lunged with his sword. There was a sickening sound as it met is mark and impaled its target. The Death Eater's spell went wild, it was a Reductor spell and it hit the burning ceiling.  
  
The hallway became an inferno of burning splinters and debris. Harry was thrown to the floor in a daze. As his head began to clear he realized that he was burned and cut in several places. Ron was screaming for help. Slowly, Harry collected himself, regained his feet and went to see what assistance he could give.  
  
Mr. Weasley and Ron were crouched low over the prone form of Hermione. When Harry approached they moved aside to give him access. Hermione must have been immediately below the blast, she was severely burned, cut, and several large fragments of wood had pierced her. She was bleeding and unconscious.  
  
"She needs a Medi-Wizard," Mr. Weasley said grimly. "My first aid charms aren't up to this."  
  
"I'll send Hedwig," Harry said, "If you can move her, bring Hermione into my room. Put her on my bed."  
  
Harry pulled a quill and parchment out of his trunk and scribbled a note for help. Deftly he attached it to Hedwig and gave her instructions. When he opened his window however, several curses were fired at him. Quickly ducking, he decided on a new tactic. He pointed his wand at the wall of his room and blasted a hole in it. Then released Hedwig to fly through the new opening.  
  
As he was doing this, Mr. Weasley, accompanied by Ron escorted in the levitated body of Hermione and set her down on Harry's small bed. As she settled, Hermione regained consciousness and began to scream in pain. Ron did his best to calm her, whispering soothing words to her and caressing her forehead. "Dad, we have to do something."  
  
Mr. Weasley put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I know, son. We'll find a way."  
  
"Harry Potter!" It was another magically amplified voice, but this was one that they knew.  
  
"Draco Malfoy!" Ron spat. "It figures he would be a part of this. I'm going to curse him into slime when I can get to him."  
  
"Potter, it's time to surrender," Draco continued. "From the sound of the screams, I would guess that your Mudblood friend is pretty badly hurt. Surrender and I promise to put her out of her misery; you're poverty stricken Weasley friends too"  
  
Harry renewed his own amplifying charm and yelled back "Go to Hell, Malfoy."  
  
"I was hoping you would say that, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "I have someone else here who wants to speak to you."  
  
"Boy!" called out a very flustered Uncle Vernon. "Get down here this instant, and get these freaks out of here before my house is completely destroyed."  
  
"Shut up, you stupid Muggle," Draco demanded. "The only reason you aren't dead is because I have a use for you."  
  
"A use?" Uncle Vernon asked. "Whatever it is, just don't hurt me or my family."  
  
"Don't you just love it when they try to bargain with you?" Draco asked in his amplified voice. "I'm afraid the use I have for you requires a good deal of pain. Crucio!"  
  
Uncle Vernon's Sonorus enhanced voice became a deafening cry of pain as the curse took hold. For a full five minutes it lasted. The trapped wizards tried to cover their ears but nothing could block out the sound of Uncle Vernon's screaming  
  
"There are two more Muggles down here, Potter. Which one should I do next? Or should I do them both together? Why don't you choose, Potter?"  
  
"Don't do this, Malfoy" Harry pleaded desperately.  
  
"After the way they've treated you, Potter? I'd think you would be applauding me for doing what you weren't wizard enough to do on your own."  
  
"They're innocent enough," Harry answered, "Even they don't deserve to be tortured as pawns."  
  
"I think I'll start with the woman," Draco said. "I've never tortured a woman before."  
  
Harry blanched. "Wait," he said, "Let's make a deal." he offered.  
  
"Don't think I don't know you're stalling for time, Potter. We saw your owl leave. Even if help arrives, I promise you it won't save the Muggles. Maybe it won't save the Mudblood either. Are you willing to risk that?"  
  
"Harry," Mr. Weasley whispered, "You can't surrender. The sword. You're too important."  
  
"Dad," Ron interjected, "He has to. She's going to die if she doesn't get help." He turned to face his friend. "Harry, you have to save Hermione - you just can't let her die like this."  
  
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said emphatically. "I know Hermione is your friend, but there are other things at stake here."  
  
"Hermione is your friend, Harry," Ron objected. "She's more important than any sword or anything else. You have to save her, Harry. You know she would do the same thing for you."  
  
Harry frowned deeply. "Let the others go," said Harry renewing his Sonorous charm, "and I'll surrender."  
  
"The others are of no significance to me," Draco answered. "What are your terms?"  
  
"Evacuate the others, and I'll surrender freely." Harry replied. "When I get an owl saying they're safe, I will turn myself over."  
  
"Owls can take a long time," returned Draco. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"  
  
"I give you my word," answered Harry, "It's the only deal I'm going to make."  
  
There was a moment or two of silence. "I accept your offer. I'm sending up a messenger with a port key."  
  
Harry slumped. Then stood up straight and unfastened the sword from around his waist and handed it to Ron. "Hide this," he said solemnly, "Keep it safe and see that it returns to the right hands. Use it if you have to, but don't let it fall to the enemy."  
  
Ron took the sword and hid it in Hermione's robe. "I will," he promised. "and thank you Harry. Thank you for saving Hermione. We'll find a way to rescue you, I promise"  
  
Harry started to say something but was interrupted by a knock at the door. He answered it with his wand at the ready. "Try anything and I'll blast you in to last year."  
  
The Death Eater, accompanied by the ashen-faced Dursleys, responded by holding up hands, showing that they were empty save for a small golden key. Harry kept his wand aimed at the wizard's head as he dropped the key on the bed beside Hermione. "It's set for the square in Hogsmeade. Send an owl immediately. We won't wait forever." Ordered a magically altered voice. The two Weasleys each put an arm around Hermione, instructed the Dursleys to do the same, and simultaneously reached for the port key. They instantly vanished.  
  
The Death Eater turned towards the door. Harry flashed his wand in a downward motion that clearly meant sit. "You aren't going anywhere, Draco" he said flatly.  
  
With out arguing, the Death Eater sat. "Smart move, Potter. I didn't think you had it in you."  
  
"Shut up!" snapped Harry.  
  
"I'm going to enjoy watching the Master torture you," Draco drawled. "My only hope is that he'll give me a turn."  
  
"This is torture enough," Harry replied, "Now shut up, or I'll put a silencing charm on you."  
  
Draco only laughed. "How did you know it was me?" he asked.  
  
"Who else would it be? It wouldn't be like you to trust someone else, and it wouldn't be like you to miss a chance to gloat. Besides, you're shorter than the average Death Eater. Voldemort must be scraping the bottom of the barrel."  
  
"My first raid," Draco said proudly, " and I get the honor of personally delivering you to the Dark Lord. How good is life?"  
  
Harry didn't answer, instead he simply paced, his wand in hand, ready for the trick he knew was coming. Perhaps ten minutes passed when the sound of magical volleys was heard from outside. Both Harry and Draco snapped to attention.  
  
"It bloody took them long enough," Harry muttered.  
  
Draco leapt to his feet. "We have a deal, Potter!"  
  
Harry leveled his wand at Draco's chest. "Our deal isn't complete until I get an Owl back from the Weasleys"  
  
"Never try to outmaneuver a Slytherin," Draco grinned at him, seized Harry's wand hand, and then grabbed the pendant he was wearing. The room blurred, faded, and suddenly they were somewhere else. 


	3. Chapter 2 Lord Voldemort's Lair

Chapter 2 – Lord Voldemort's Lair

It was a beautiful summer's day in Hogsmeade Square. Children splashed in the fountain, bright-robed young wizards and witches stood by talking, laughing, visiting old friends and making new ones as more somber colored elders went about their business. As the only all-wizard village in England, Hogsmeade had always had a special air about it. It was a place where a wizard or witch could be himself or herself, unhampered by the constraints of rigid Muggle concepts of reality. As such, it had always enjoyed a relaxed, happy, and almost frivolous atmosphere.

All joy and levity dissipated abruptly as six new figures appeared. Three obvious Muggles, faces plastered with a combination of fear, confusion, and the sudden anguish that accompanies suddenly finding out the world didn't exactly work the way you thought it did. Two of the others were red-haired, robed wizards, wands in hand, cut, soot stained, and battle weary. The third was a battered and seriously injured witch.

As the effects of being in a completely different place than mere seconds before wore off, the two wizards began to move. "Someone call a Medi-wizard!" shouted the younger. "Hurry! We need help here," emphasized the elder. As with any crowd of people in such circumstances, most evaporated away, a few moved closer to see what aid they might give, and a couple ran off to get the help called for.

Reality came back into focus for Harry. He was in a large hall with Draco's hand still around his wrist. Everywhere he looked, he saw Death Eaters. He braced himself for the worst. "Petrificus Totalus!" He felt the spell slam into him and his body go rigid. Draco at last released his grasp.

"Master Malfoy, we've been waiting for you," drawled a voice from outside Harry's now fixed field of view. It was the voice that haunted his dreams and made his blood run cold. It was Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord stepped into his line of sight. "Harry Potter, you have no idea the troubles I've gone through to get you here. I have great plans for you, but they will have wait. I have other matters to attend to." Voldemort snapped his fingers and two Death Eaters appeared. "Take Mr. Potter to his room until I am ready for him."

The black-robed figures picked Harry up as if he were a statue and carried him down dark hallways then turned into a room. Once inside, they dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed. Harry stared at the ceiling, not that he had any choice about the matter, and played connect the dots with the patterns in the ceiling tiles. He heard the door shut and lock as his escort left.

Back in the Great Hall, Lord Voldemort reviewed his troops. "I would really like to know why a team of twenty Death Eaters, sent to retrieve one whelp of a wizard, comes back eight members short, and looking as if they've been shredded."

"Aurors arrived, Master," stammered one of the Death Eaters. "We were forced to fight back."

No sooner had the word left his mouth than he fell to the floor in agony. "I know that, you fool! The whole point of the mission was to go in, snatch Potter, and then leave. Had you followed these simple instructions, there would have been no bloody Aurors." Voldemort released his minion from agony, but kicked him as attempted to regain his feet. "Stay on the ground, worm, or I may be tempted to snap that feeble mind of yours."

"Where is Ferguson?" demanded Voldemort, "He is responsible for this fiasco! Every Auror in England is buzzing around like an angry hornet! There will be hell to pay for this!"

"Ferguson is dead, M'lord" Draco answered.

"Master Malfoy," Voldemort turned to face him. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Draco felt himself begin to tremble. "You arrived with Potter. Tell me what happened."

"We arrived shortly after the Weasleys and the Mudblood Granger," Draco started. "We stormed the house to find that the Potter and the others had gone upstairs. Several attempts were made to retrieve them, and all failed. In the last attempt, Ferguson perished. The Mudblood was also wounded. Potter managed to send an owl for assistance.

"While searching the house, I discovered Potter's Muggle relatives. Since Ferguson was down, I taunted Potter by placing his Uncle under the cruciatus and threatening to do the same to the others. When I threatened to curse his Aunt, Potter offered a deal. In exchange for the release of the others, he offered to surrender. I accepted."

"You let the other's go?" Voldemort asked in disbelief.

Draco bowed his head and braced himself for the cruciatus he knew was coming. "It was the only way, Master. We were running out of time. No instructions were given for the others, only for Potter. I felt it was an acceptable risk. I gave them a Port Key to Hogsmeade. When the Aurors began to arrive, Potter was going to back out of the deal, so I used my emergency port Key to bring him here."

"I told him we should kill the Muggles, Master," another Death Eater spoke.

"This was your first raid, young Malfoy?" Voldemort demanded.

"Yes, Master." Draco answered, head still pointing downward.

Voldemort began to pace again. "I would have preferred that the others had been killed, but I am not unhappy. You used your head and accomplished the goal, as you knew it. You used Potter's own qualities against him. That was a brilliant touch. You did well and your father will be proud. I am adding you to my staff. I believe that brain of yours will be of great use to me."

Voldemort dismissed the company and Draco left with his head high. He stepped into the flue quite happy with himself. He had delivered his enemy to his master and been rewarded for it. He was now a member of The Dark Lord's personal staff, and no longer a mere Death Eater. Destiny approached.

Harry spent the night rigidly staring at the ceiling. It was impossible to measure the passage of time, but it seemed as if an eternity has passed. He tried counting breaths to get an idea of the passage of time, but after a few hundred, he would lose count and have to start over. Normally, a Petrificus Spell wouldn't last more than an hour or so, but he was quite sure longer than that had passed.

The sounds around him gave little clue or comfort. In the distance he heard occasional screams, and periodically there were footsteps in the hall. The silence and the inability to move began to eat away at his resolve. Fear and anxiety began to loom as dark shadows over his consciousness as he wondered what was in store for him.

He believed that he had done the right thing. Lives had been at stake, and without his surrender, Hermione could easily have died. And the Dursleys… Damn Draco… being forced to bargain with Draco to save the Dursleys was a cruel twist. No matter what they had done to him in the past he just couldn't have let the Death Eaters torture them. What irked him the most though, was that the most likely response he would get from them was 'Why hadn't he surrendered sooner?'

"You let him surrender?" Ginny screamed. Her face was even more scarlet than her hair. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"Ginny, calm down," Mr. Weasley said and attempted to put his arm around her. "We all know how much Harry means to you…"

Ginny pushed her father's arm away. "How much he means to me? He's Harry Effing Potter, and you left him to be carted off to the freaking Dark Lord himself?"

"Hermione was dying, Gin," Ron objected. "It was the only way to save her. It was Harry's idea, it's not like we asked him to do it"

"I don't care about Hermione, and I don't care if it was Harry's idea. Harry's a bleeding hero, of course it was his idea. You're supposed to be his friends, you're supposed to keep him from doing stupid things like that. Since when is your girlfriend more important than The-Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Since when is your boyfriend more important than my girlfriend?"

Ginny shook with anger, tried to speak, but could only utter unintelligible syllables. "This is the first time in my life I've ever been ashamed to be a Weasley," she finally managed to spew. Flushed with the heat of rage, she decided to go outside and get some fresh air. She left the room in a flourish of red.

Oblivious to her surroundings, Ginny stormed through the halls of St. Mungo's, through the front door and outside onto the streets of London. She had no idea where she was really, or where she was going. She just needed to get away and think… and cry.

"You must be Ginny Weasley," proclaimed a voice from the shadows.

Without thinking, Ginny drew her wand. Just try something, creep, she thought to herself, you just picked the wrong witch to mess with.

A wiry, dark-haired man, with a hard-edged look to him emerged ever so slightly, so that his face was visible. "Easy now, I'm not going to hurt you…" he said as reassuringly as he could manage.

"You should be more worried about me hurting you," Ginny said coldly.

"I'm Sirius Black," the man said, "Harry's godfather."

Ginny lowered her wand. "He's told me about you."

"What's going on? I heard there was an attack in Surrey, and that people were injured. Where is Harry? Is he ok?"

Ginny began to shake and then to cry. Giant sobs racked her body and she had difficulty staying on her feet. Sirius out an arm around her in an attempt to provide comfort. Ginny put her arms around him in return, hugging him tightly and weeping into his chest. Sirius could do nothing but hold her.

"He's gone," she finally murmured, attempting to regain her composure. "You-know-who has him."

Sirius had a sick look on his face. "What? How? He was supposed to be safe there."

"Death Eaters attacked as my father was arriving to take him back to the Burrow. Hermione was badly injured. Harry surrendered himself to save them and the Dursleys."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Sirius exhaled. Suddenly he didn't feel so steady on his own feet. "Do you know what they're doing to try and find him?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "I asked an Auror and was told that even if they knew where he was, they couldn't hope to rescue him."

Sirius staggered back into the shadows and leaned against the wall.

"We've got to do something," Ginny said with determination. "I don't care if I have to go myself, I am not giving up on him."

"I'll do what I can to find him. I can get places that Aurors can't. Promise me you won't do anything rash."

"I can't make that promise." Ginny answered. "If I find a chance to save him, I am taking it."

"You can help more by staying put," Sirius warned. "I swear to you that if Harry is still alive, I will find him and I will save him. It is easier for me to move among Death Eaters than it is to walk the streets of London. You can help there. If you find out anything, send me an owl. If I find out anything in the field, I'll send it to you and you can make it gets to the right people."

Ginny considered his words. "I'll help, but I'm still not making a promise I won't keep."

Sirius smiled tightly. "Fair enough. Just remember that if we get Harry back, he's going to need you. I don't doubt you could rip apart your share of Death Eaters, but you'll do Harry more good by being there for him once he's rescued."

"It will take more than Death Eaters to keep that from happening." Ginny replied firmly.

"I'll be in touch," Sirius said. "Send an owl if you find out anything." He then transformed into a large dog, barked and took off at a sprint down the street.

Ginny exhaled deeply then went back into the hospital to find her family.

Harry's muscles cried out in agony from being frozen so long in the same position. Night had fallen, passed and now the dawn had arrived. By his best guess, he had been staring at the ceiling now for fourteen hours. The Petrificus spell, prevented all voluntary motion but allowed involuntary motion, so that while he could breathe and blink, he could not close his eyes to sleep. He was exhausted, in pain, hunger gnawed at his stomach, and suspense and fear combined to sap his will

When at last he heard the sound of the door to his room being opened, anxiety overwhelmed all other sensation.

"Finite Incantem" Instantly, Harry's body was released and collapsed onto the bed beneath him. He tried to stretch, but found he barely had the strength to move. "The Master wishes for your presence. On your feet!"

With great effort, Harry lifted himself into a sitting position. The Death Eater, impatient, grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him up. Harry staggered, but the Death Eater's grip did not slacken. Harry found himself being half dragged down the hallway and into a dining room where a table, set with food, filled the room. Sitting at the table, spreading butter on a muffin was Lord Voldemort.

"You will not manhandle my guests that way," the Dark Lord barked. "Help Mr. Potter to his seat… Gently!… Then leave us."

Harry was seated at the table on the opposite end from Lord Voldemort. His mouth watered and his stomach knotted uncomfortably at the sight of food.

"Do help yourself, Harry. I can call you Harry, can't I?"

"Can I call you Tom?" Harry asked.

There was a flash of anger on Voldemort's face, but it was quickly replaced by patently false laughter. "No, you may not," he answered emphatically. "We will talk about business later though. Now eat! Certainly you must be hungry."

Harry stared at the food intently wondering whether or not he should eat. The food could be poisoned or otherwise magicked, but of course he was already in Lord Voldemort's power, and could be cursed or poisoned at anytime. If the food was real, then it might give him the strength he needed to escape when he found the opportunity. He decided to take the risk.

Several muffins, an apple, and three glasses of pumpkin juice later, Harry felt sated. Lord Voldemort had waited patiently for Harry to finish before speaking. "It was really quite foolish of you to surrender for the sake of Muggles, Harry" he drawled as Harry finished the last of his juice. "Especially when, if the rumors are true, they have a history of treating you so shabbily."

"Muggles are people too," Harry replied.

"Really, Harry, you must get over this damned nobility of yours, or it will be your undoing."

"I am what I am," replied Harry.

"That may be," Voldemort answered, "But for your sake, I hope not." Then he paused as servants came in to clear the table. When they were gone he continued. "You and I really aren't so different, you know. I was very much like you at one point."

"So where did you go wrong?" Harry snapped.

Again there was a flash of anger and this time it did not fade so quickly. "I realized the truth that you have yet to learn. Nobility and all of the other so-called virtues are simply traps by which the weak enslave the strong. I had no desire to be a slave, and neither, I think, do you!"

"So you would reverse the wrong and have the weak enslaved by the strong? Wasn't that tried in the Dark Ages? This is your virtue?"

"Virtue is irrelevant. Everything that I can take is mine by right, and I can take a great deal, indeed."

"So why am I here?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Because you are my enemy, but it doesn't have to be so. You represent a great deal of power, young Harry. Not so much that I could not destroy you, and don't think for an instant that I won't. You could do well for yourself as my servant."

"So instead of a slave, you would have me be a servant? Doesn't sound like a big step up to me…"

"I would require your loyalty and obedience, but otherwise your fate would be your own. Those who serve me well want for nothing. Those who oppose me only find death."

Harry started to speak, but Voldemort stopped him. "Don't answer yet, we will talk of this later." Death Eaters appeared - one on either side. Harry rose and followed where they led him. Back in the room where he had spent the previous night, he set about looking for a means of escape. Much as he expected though, he found none.

"What will the neighbors think?" Aunt Petunia asked in dismay.

"We're ruined…" Uncle Vernon lamented. "We're homeless…"

Dudley remained quiet as he looked at the remains of the only home he'd ever known. The smell of ash filled the air along with the heavier grit of plaster, mortar, and who knew what else. The upstairs was gone, and the downstairs was simply a repository for rubble. Dudley took it all in with his eyes wide, barely bothering to blink. Closing his eyes did little good anyway – the images stayed in his mind whether he looked or not… all of them.

The Dursley family grief was interrupted by a stranger, a man very obviously one of 'them'. His mother and father cringed slightly from the hand he offered as introduction, but Dudley stepped up and took it, shaking it somewhat tenuously.

"I'm sorry about you loss," the wizard offered. "We're doing everything we can though…" he added grimly.

"It's the only house we have," Uncle Vernon insisted. "Where are we going to live?"

The robed figure looked at him oddly in response. "Your nephew, I meant. Harry Potter."

There was a bit of surprise in Vernon Dursley's eyes for an instant. "Yes, the boy… yes, yes, terrible."

Another odd look from the wizard before going on, "I've been authorized to repair the damage done here, and return things to their original state," he said producing a wand from his sleeve. "This shouldn't take too long."

"Wait," objected Aunt Petunia. "What about the neighbors?" she whispered

"That'll be taken care of," the short reply.

A few hours later, everything was as it had been before the battle. All three member of the Dursley family walked through the house carefully, as if they didn't truly believe their eyes. Despite the familiarity, they approached everything as it were new.

"Memory charms are being administered to your neighbors," the stranger explained. "They'll have no recollection of anything out of the ordinary having occurred over the past three days. I'm authorized to offer you the same treatment, if you want."

"Wait," objected Dudley. "I want to know why this happened."

Again, the puzzled look. "They wanted your cousin…"

"But why?" demanded Dudley. "Who would want Harry Potter bad enough to do this?"

"He's Harry Potter," the stranger stated, as if that should be explanation enough. The blank stare that greeted told him otherwise, so he explained briefly Harry's significance. When he was done, he once again offered the option of a memory charm.

"It it's all the same," declared Dudley, "I want to remember this."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia also refused the charm. The Auror shrugged and dis-apparated out of the house very confused about the whole encounter.

Several hours of interminable boredom later, Harry was brought a fresh robe, and escorted to the bath to freshen himself up. Again he searched for a means of escape but failed. Clean and dressed, he was taken to dinner, where he ate his fill, then brought into the great hall where he had first arrived. Lord Voldemort was there with an assemblage of Death Eaters, mostly un-hooded. Among their number was a smirking Draco Malfoy standing beside his father.

"Hello again, Harry," Lord Voldemort called with a magnanimous gesture, as if greeting an old friend. Harry, for his part, tried to remain complacent. "Harry and I have been discussing his joining my forces, haven't we, Harry?"

Harry remained silent, but Voldemort seemed nonplussed.

"Before I could accept your loyalty," the Dark Lord continued. "I require a token of goodwill, a gesture, you might say."

"And that would be?" Harry asked calmly.

"Just a small thing, really," Voldemort answered with a smile. "Rumor has it that you might know the whereabouts of the sword of Gryffindor. If this were true, and you were to hand it over to me, or tell me where I might find it, well… let us simply say that I would be obliged to overlook any past transgressions you may have committed against me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," insisted Harry.

"Oh come now, Harry," replied Voldemort. "Surely you don't think such an important event as the passing of the sword could take place without my knowing about it?"

"I really have no idea," answered Harry.

Voldemort seemed perturbed. "Very well, perhaps I am going about this the wrong way. You and I do have a certain history don't we? Perhaps, in order to prove that I am genuine, I should make the first gesture. What would you ask of me, Harry?"

"You have nothing that I want," Harry replied.

"Really?" asked Voldemort in mock surprise. "Perhaps if I delivered your enemies to you, as I am asking of you… I have heard that there is little love lost between you and Master Malfoy. As a token of good faith, I will give him to you to dispose of as you see fit." He gestured to his bodyguards. "Seize the younger Malfoy, and relieve him of his wand."

The Death Eaters instantly complied and Draco was grappled and manhandled into position before Harry and Voldemort. Draco's face was ashen.

"Well, Harry, make the worm pay." Harry's only answer was a blank stare. "Oh yes, you need a wand…" Voldemort produced one and handed it to him. Harry took the wand and carefully considered it. He pointed it and watched as Draco's face changed to an expression of horror. Harry gestured as if about to cast, but stopped the motion short. In his mind he ran over every spell he knew trying to decide on the one most appropriate to the situation.

He raised the wand again, but instead of casting at Draco, he turned and pointed it at floor below Lord Voldemort's feet. "Reducto!" There was no explosion though, no rain of wood or splinters, only silence.

"You didn't really think I would give you a real wand, did you Harry?" Voldemort asked and began to laugh. "If you had attempted to give Malfoy his due, perhaps I might have given you one then, but perhaps not. You are beyond hope, Potter. Since you wouldn't do it my way, we'll do it yours." Voldemort produced his own wand and pointed at Harry. "Crucio!"

Harry tried to keep to his feet, but soon fell to the floor as excruciating pain conquered his body. He writhed on the floor to the sound of his own screams until the spell ended. He gasped for air and tried to pull himself to his feet, when the spell was renewed. A second time the spell ended, leaving Harry too drained to move. The smell of bile assaulted him and he realized that his supper had vacated his stomach.

"Get this pile of dung out of here!" the Dark Lord ordered. "See that he finds less pleasant accommodations than he had earlier."

Harry's arms were seized and he was dragged like a limp rag through the hallways, down stairs, across a stone floor, and then tossed into a small chamber about the size of a broom closet. The door slammed shut and he was left in total darkness.

Three long weeks had passed since Harry's capture. To Ginny it seemed as if it had been years. She slept only when exhaustion had claimed so much strength that she could no longer move, or when some concerned faculty member had Madame Pomfrey force a Sleeping Draught down her throat. The dreams of sleep were worse than the pain of being awake. She could not close her eyes without seeing images of Harry, emaciated, bruised, and in agony, or worse, dead and lifeless.

The halls of Hogwarts brought her no comfort. Around every corner there was something that reminded her of Harry. The smell of Pumpkin juice in the great hall, the entire Gryffindor Common Room, even Professor Snape and his eternal sneer reminded her of him, and how much Harry wanted to wipe that look off of the potion master's face. She had lost so many points for her House, served so many detentions, that she was in danger of setting a new record.

House Cups, House points, even Quidditch hardly seemed to matter. All that mattered in her world was Harry – that he was alive, in danger, and suffering with no hope of escape or rescue. In her free time she scoured the library looking for some bit of magic that might help. She went through countless musty tomes, and pored over faded manuscripts with print so small, she needed a magnifying charm to have any chance of reading them.

When at last she found what she was looking for, she found both the spells she needed in a single book. Her new mission then became the gathering of the ingredients and materials she needed to actually perform the magic. In Harry's absence, she had adopted Hedwig, doting on the owl as a link to Harry. Hedwig, seeming to understand with intelligence far beyond a normal owl, accepted Ginny and listened attentively to the new instructions given her.

"You're a real mess, Potter" Draco drawled is his silkiest, most condescending voice. "You really should get out more."

Harry lay strapped to a table, feet and hands were stretched taut and bound by leather straps. It was the truth - he was a mess. His life had become an eternal melange of darkness and pain. Such relief as he found was in the few hours he was allowed to pass out from pain and exhaustion. The agony of being woken to face more torture though made it seem hardly worth while.

Time had ceased to have objective meaning for him. He was sure it had been days at the least, but it felt like years, even decades. It seemed as if his whole life had been spent here in this dungeon and few memories of his life before penetrated the haze of misery. From the past, only visions of Ginny came to him, eyes gleaming and soft words on her lips – although they had never touched in their time together, he could almost feel her trying to caress his pain away. This secret inner dream renewed his strength and he clung to it desperately, hoping beyond all hope.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Harry murmured

"Really, Potter! I'd think you'd have learned some manners by now, or at least to keep that mouth of yours shut."

Harry remained silent.

"That's the spirit. The Master has been pleased with my performance, so much so that he has given me this opportunity to come and add to your pain. You wouldn't believe how many Muggles and Mudbloods I've had to torment to earn this chance."

Harry grimaced but didn't speak.

"It's rather a let down actually, you're hardly in any shape to appreciate pain… It also occurs to me that I might owe you a certain debt. If you hadn't been so foolish as to attack the master, I might very easily be where you are right now. You are a fool, no doubt, Potter, but a Malfoy always repays his debts. I will spare you physical pain, and leave you with this and consider the matter closed."

Draco leaned close to Harry's ear and began to whisper. "I lied to you in Surrey. That port key didn't go to Hogsmeade. It went to my father's estate. You accomplished nothing. Your precious Weasleys were subjected to the cruciatus until their feeble minds snapped. Granger didn't need any help, she expired all on her own."

Harry lurched at his bounds with all of his remaining strength, only succeeding in causing himself more pain. Enraged, he tried to summon some inner magic to either free himself or strike down Draco, but nothing came. Draco only stood back and watched with an amused look on his face. Harry struggled until the last of his strength left him, then slumped like a rag onto the table.

"Goodbye, Potter" Draco said finally, heading for the exit. "Do try to hang on until I can visit again…" There was a slamming of a heavy metal door, and then silence.

Ginny made her way through the stone halls of Hogwarts on her way to the Headmaster's office. Headmistress, she corrected herself. It was still hard to believer that Professor Dumbledore was gone. First Dumbledore, and now Harry – it was just too much.

"Transmogrification," she spoke to the Gargoyle statue, which promptly opened the portal that would give her access to Professor McGonagall's office. At the top of the winding stairs there was an audience waiting for her: Sirius Black, Professors Lupin, Moody and McGonagall, and two grim looking wizards in plain gray robes whom she did not know.

Professor McGonagall wasted no time getting started. "Mr. Black tells us that you have some rather important information regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Potter."

"I've found him, or Sirius and I together have found him." Ginny answered.

"I'm sure you won't mind us asking, lass" Professor Moody asked, "But how?"

"With a Speculum Veneificus, A Quaestio Tergiversatio, and an Expiscor charm," Ginny answered, quite satisfied with herself.

"I'm afraid I don't know any of those," admitted Professor Moody admitted.

"A Wizard's Mirror and some sort of Seeking Charms," answered one of the anonymous Wizards. "Explain this to us, please."

"I created the mirror first, as a means of proving that Harry is, in fact, alive." She rummaged through her book bag and produced a silver mirror and a map of England. The mirror bore the image of a battered Harry, collapsed against the wall of a small stone room. Reluctantly she passed the mirror around the room.

"I tried using standard seeking spells, but they turned up nothing. If one assumes that he was taken to You-Know-Who, it only follows that the location would be unplottable. I did a lot of research then and came up with a new strategy. If I couldn't find out where Harry was, then perhaps I could find out where he wasn't. I found two very old tracking spells in the library, and used them together along with a map to try and find him. The fact that he was in an unplottable location still interfered so further modification was required. I was unable to find his exact location, but I was able to narrow it down to a general area."

"Then she contacted me," Sirius interjected. "I used my, uh, skills to search that area until I finally located the exact location." Sirius took the map from Ginny and stretched it out on a table. "He is being held here." Sirius put his finger down on the map in Wales very close to Anglesey. "I staked out the site for two days to verify it, and saw the comings and goings of several dozen Death Eaters."

"This is a bit hard to believe," started the other anonymous Wizard, "that an escaped convict, and a school witch can ferret out the location of the Dark Lord and his headquarters when the entire Auror corps cannot. I'll admit that it's a clever story, but why should we believe it?"

"I don't give a Knut whether you believe it or not," Ginny bristled, "and I care even less about bloody Death Eaters. Harry is alive and someone has to go and get him. I didn't ask for your help, Sirius did. I'm going whether you do or not."

"Miss Weasley," objected Professor McGonagall countered. "You will do no such thing while you are a student here at Hogwarts. This is a matter for the professionals."

"So was finding him, but they didn't even look! They wrote him off as dead!" Ginny countered.

"I'm with Ginny on this one," Sirius said. "Harry is still alive, but for how much longer? A rescue has to be launched and it has to be done soon. Reproduce the magic if you don't believe us."

"It is a very big risk to take for one person, when our resources are stretched as thin as they are," said one of the gray-clad wizards. "It would take a very large force to ensure success, and it would be hard to organize without detection. We know that our command structure has been infiltrated. They would be waiting for us."

"Mr. Potter is more than 'just one person'" Professor McGonagall insisted. "If this is at all possible, I would strongly advise that it be done." She gave Professor Moody a hard look.

Alastor Moody appeared pensive then turned to the anonymous wizards. "Do it! Not a large raid though… Use the Unspeakables and Special Ops – only those you can personally vouch for. Take no more than two dozen at most. Get in fast and get out fast. I want this done within forty eight hours"

The unknown wizards snapped to attention on receipt of their orders. "Take Mr. Black with you as a guide… on my authority."

"Bur, Sir!" the wizards objected. Moody simply glared back at them.

"What about me?" Ginny asked.

"You're staying here, Lass," answered Professor Moody. "You've done a good thing, but as the Professor says, your place is here." Ginny deflated visibly. "Another thing, Lass. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone or anything else you've seen or heard here today."

Harry screamed.

"Tell me what I want to know, Harry. Let me end your torment!." Voldemort said soothingly.

Harry's only reply was another scream of pain. Not content with simply using the Cruciatus curse to torture him, a wide variety of other techniques had been employed. Fire, Ice, beatings, and other things too terrible to remember. Harry could no longer even remember what it was that Voldemort wanted to know, he only knew that there was pain.

"There's no shame, Harry," continued Voldemort, "far stronger men have succumbed to less."

Harry moaned, wishing that he could tell this man what he wanted to know.

"That fool Dumbledore put up no fight at all. You've shown your worth, Harry. You are a worthy opponent, but you have lost. Let it end."

At hearing the name of Professor Dumbledore, vague memories began to resurface and Harry renewed his struggle. Within a few minutes however, he could no longer remember why he was struggling.

"He's fading, Master," hissed Peter Pettigrew. "He won't last much longer."

"Then heal him! Keep him alive until he tells me what I want to know."

Pettigrew shook his head and mumbled to himself. He performed what healing magic he could, but couldn't see where it would be of much benefit. The boy was severely battered and it would take a full-fledged Medi-Wizard to heal the damage that had been done to him.

When the healing was complete, Lord Voldemort returned to pressuring Harry. Time was running out, he knew. It was unbelievable that the boy had lasted as long as he had, but no matter how strong he was, he simply couldn't take much more. If all his enemies were made such, he would have a tough go of it, indeed.

"Harry, I'm tiring of this game…."

There was a sound of loud explosions from above. Lord Voldemort turned to Pettigrew who looked back at him incredulously. "I don't know, Master."

"Of course, you don't! Go find out!" Voldemort screamed in his face. Pettigrew shambled out of the room in a huff of air. Voldemort paced impatiently too distracted to even worry about interrogating Harry. More explosions were heard and occasional screams.

Several minutes passed before Pettigrew returned panting for air. "We are under attack, sir! There are Aurors on the main floor."

"Bloody Hell," shouted Lord Voldemort, "Prepare to evacuate. Have the troops reassemble at the rendezvous point."

"Yes. Master" Pettigrew answered.

"And kill Potter…" Voldemort added off-handedly.

Pettigrew blanched and began to tremble. "P-P-Perhaps, Master, there's a better solution…"

"Stop sniveling, worm! Unless you want to end up in Azkaban, spit it out and hurry up about it."

"Instead of killing Potter, why not cripple him?" Pettigrew suggested.

"Cripple him? Break his legs?" Voldemort asked "Are you daft?"

"No, Master. I mean to remove his wand hand…. He'd be little more than a squib then, and if he is lying, then the sword of Gryffindor will do him no good if he doesn't have a hand with which to wield it. Helpless and unable to aid his companions he'll be forced to watch helplessly as you ascend to power."

Voldemort stopped in his tracks, and turned around "Pettigrew! I'm impressed! Did you think of that all by yourself? Very devious…. Make it so, then…"

Peter Pettigrew very tentatively picked up a large knife from the rack and approached Harry's side. His hands were trembling so severely that he could barley keep the blade in his hand. Finally, mustering some hidden reserve of courage, he raised the edge high and then dropped it. There was a sickening 'thwap!' as flesh hit the floor. Harry screamed as the blade tore through flesh and bone. The wound gushed like a scarlet fountain. Pettigrew went to the brazier and stoked the fire until it became viciously hot before taking one of the iron bars resting there. It glowed red hot and sizzled in the cool air. Pettigrew brought it to Harry's wound and mashed it. Harry howled in pain and the air filled with the stench of burnt flesh and boiling blood.

Reasonably sure that the bleeding had stopped, Pettigrew withdrew the iron and tossed it back into the fire, He then picked up Harry's lifeless hand and held it before Harry's glazed eyes. "You won't be needing this anymore," he said and then tossed it into the fire.

There were pops as Voldemort and Pettigrew apparated out of the room, but Harry was barely aware of them as his world faded into black.


	4. Chapter 3 Harry's Return

Chapter 3 – Harry's Return

The look on Sirius' face was grim and filled Ginny with dread. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Harry was alive, she knew that much, whatever else was wrong she was prepared to deal with. Sirius tried to speak several times before he could get actually words out.

"He's alive," he pronounced.

"I know that," said Ginny, "but how is he? How bad?"

Sirius grimaced. "Very bad… Very, very bad." Despite his best efforts to remain strong, he felt his eyes began to mist up.

"Can I see him?" Ginny asked. "Please let me see him…"

"The doctors are still working on him, but as soon as possible, I promise you will get to see him."

"How long?" Ginny demanded. "I need to see him."

"Tomorrow at the latest," Sirius answered. "Ginny, just be prepared. If we'd waited another day, we probably would have lost him. I can't thank you enough for the work you did to find him…"

"I didn't do it for you…." Ginny answered sharply.

"I know you didn't. I know you have feelings for him."

"I love him," Ginny objected.

Sirius nodded. "I believe you do… Harry is going to need you I think, and it's going to be hard going for both of you. I can't imagine how he's going to deal with this… or how you're going to deal him. If ever you need my help, you only have to ask…" He started to break down again.

Ginny put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Tell me, Sirius, what happened? I need to know…"

"His hand, Ginny. It's gone. Instead of just killing him they maimed him and left him to live."

Ginny slumped into the wall. "How could they do such a thing?" Her throat seized up and she felt suddenly as if there were no air in the room. Her knees became weak and she clutched at the wall to keep from falling. Slowly she sank to the floor until she reached a sitting position and remained there with her head resting on her knees.

The significance of Sirius' words slowly began to take effect. How would Harry cope? How did anyone deal with such a loss? Harry was so young, and with his whole life ahead of him. To be crippled in such away would most likely seem to him a fate worse than death…

Several hours passed before Madame Pomfrey emerged from the doors of the Hospital Wing. Ginny had curled up into a ball on the floor, and Sirius sat dozing with his back against the wall. "Mr. Black," she said, bending down to shake him awake. "You can see him now…"

Sirius shook the sleep out of his head and slowly rose to his feet. Ginny snapped instantly awake. "How is he?" Ginny demanded.

"Hard to say," Madame Pomfrey said solemnly. "Most of the physical damage has been healed… all of it that could be anyway. As for the rest…who can say? Only time will tell us that." She held the door open for Sirius, but when Ginny attempted to follow she objected. "Miss Weasley, I'm sorry, but only family is allowed. Mr. Potter won't be allowed to see friends until he is much stronger."

Sirius turned and gave Madame Pomfrey his most withering look. "I am Harry's godfather," he said flatly but with a razor sharp voice. Madame Pomfrey visibly wilted. "As far as I am concerned, Ginny Weasley is family and under no circumstances is she to be prohibited from seeing him – day or night." He leaned in closer. "And if she isn't there when Harry wakes, I'm going to hold you personally responsible." Madame Pomfrey only nodded and allowed Ginny to pass.

Harry's room was made up of pristine white walls, with a bed covered in the whitest of linens. Only the odor of medicines and potions from a small stand in the corner grounded the scene in reality and marred the sensation of being in a cloud. In the bed lay the figure they knew was Harry, but it was hard to tell there was actually a person there for the mass of bandages. Ginny choked back a sob at the sight of his pale face, just barely visible. She felt that lack of air feeling again. Sirius escorted her to the only chair in the room and began to pace nervously.

Ginny went to classes only because she was required and spent every free moment available at Harry's side. On the third day Harry moaned into wakefulness. The sound of his voice brought Ginny out of the half-sleeping state she was in and onto her feet. Carefully, afraid to touch him she went to his side and called his name. Harry blinked several times before becoming fully aware. Ginny stared into his emerald green eyes for the first time since the end of the previous term at Hogwarts and could only smile in joy and relief that he was finally back.

"Am I dead?" Harry asked in a dry and cracking voice.

Ginny shook her head. "No, Harry. You're very much alive and you have no idea how happy I am to see you again."

Harry managed a weak smile. "I missed you," he said.

Ginny felt her heart melt and slip down to her knees. She wanted to hug him, but was afraid it would cause him pain. Gingerly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. It was the first time she had ever actually kissed him although the thought had crossed her mind many times. It was not a moment of passion but of genuine tenderness, coming from a deep well of emotion finally made tangible. Whatever it might have lacked to an outside observer, Ginny thought to herself, to her it was the most amazing thing that had ever happened.

Harry tried to move but was unable to do so. His arms were heavily bandaged along with his torso and every other perceivable part in addition to being tucked so securely into the bed that even the slightest bit of movement was impossible. Despite this, Harry struggled and Ginny tried to calm him. "It's Ok, Harry," she said soothingly.

"Why can't I move?" he asked in a panic.

"You've been badly hurt and you're very weak. You need time to recover your strength…"

Harry relaxed back into the bed with a look of frustration on his face. Ginny combed the hair out of his face, and this seemed to relax him. She told him about all of the little things she had done during the summer, and of classes. As she casually mentioned Ron, Harry went pale and slack.

"What's wrong, Harry? Are you in pain? Should I call Madame Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "Ron," he said bitterly. "Hermione, your father…"

Ginny gave him a puzzled expression. "What about them?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I failed them…"

Ginny shook her head furiously "No, Harry. You didn't fail them. You've never failed anyone. Ever…"

"I tried to save them… Draco tricked me… I failed them. I failed you. I'm sorry."

Ginny was still shaking her head. "No, Harry. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. How can you think that you failed them?"

Harry couldn't understand how Ginny could be so dense, and was becoming frustrated. "But they're not here… They're dead and it's my fault…"

It was Ginny's turn to be confused. "But they're not dead… Ron and Hermione will be here to see you as soon as Madame Pomfrey will allow you to have visitors." She blushed. "Sirius made Madame Pomfrey count me as family. I'd have been here anyway though. It would take a lot more than the school Medi-Witch to keep me away."

Harry still looked pale. "But Malfoy told me that the port key was a trap, that they had all died…"

Ginny kissed him on the forehead again. "It wasn't true, Harry. Now don't think about it anymore. You're here, and you're safe, and everyone is OK."

Harry began to relax. Ginny continued on talking to him about small insignificant things, until his breathing once again became even, and she knew that he had returned to sleep. Ginny relaxed into her chair and dozed off peacefully. She awoke sometime later to find Sirius had arrived. She shared with him the news of Harry's awakening and the confusion over Ron and Hermione. Sirius was happy, but frowned on hearing the news regarding Malfoy.

Madame Pomfrey entered the room with a bowl of porridge. "It is time to waken Mr. Potter," she said. "He'll very likely be disoriented and fuzzy. I know how long you've both been waiting, but please give him a chance to regain his awareness before swarming him with attention."

"He's already been awake once," Ginny said, "but only for a few minutes."

Madame Pomfrey glared at her. "You really should have called for me, Miss Weasley." Ginny averted her eyes. "Mr. Potter still requires a great deal of care… medical care. It will take a great effort for him to become accustomed to the new reality of his injuries. For the time being however, I would appreciate that as little attention be devoted to it as possible."

Ginny nodded understandingly. "Madame Pomfrey, I know Harry isn't really ready for visitors, but I really think Ron and Hermione should be allowed to visit, at least for a few minutes. Harry thinks they're dead and I think it would be a good thing for him to see that they're actually alive."

Madame Pomfrey nodded thoughtfully. "I think a short visit would be ok." She then returned to business and gently shook Harry awake. "Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?" she asked.

Harry struggled into consciousness. "I can't move," he answered groggily.

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "For you own good," she replied. "You've been through a horrible ordeal, and you need time to heal. I brought you something to eat. I'm sure you must be very hungry." She brought a spoonful of porridge to Harry's mouth, which he met with a look of disgust; clearly porridge was not his idea of 'food'. After the second spoonful, Madame Pomfrey's attempts to feed him became futile.

"Why do I have to eat this rubbish?" Harry asked obstinately. "At least let me feed myself. I can, you know."

"No, Mr. Potter, you cannot," Madame Pomfrey countered strongly. "Now relax and eat, otherwise you'll starve."

Harry still refused. Ginny cleared her throat. "Ma'am, let me try." Madame Pomfrey, frustrated, consented and handed the spoon and bowl over to Ginny. Ginny brought the spoon to Harry's mouth, but Harry refused to allow it

Harry looked at Ginny with emerald eyes that melted her heart. "Please, Ginny," he pleaded, "let me feed myself."

Ginny had to tap hidden reserves of strength to keep a straight face and refrain from crying. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you just can't. Please eat, Harry. You have to regain your strength."

Reluctantly, Harry opened his mouth and swallowed the porridge. Ginny continued to feed him until the entire bowl was gone. Madame Pomfrey stood watching the entire time, but her expression changed. She took the empty bowl from Ginny, and smiled kindly at her. "I'll be back in a bit to check on him, please call me if he requires attention."

The next day, after classes had ended, Hermione and Ron stepped silently into Harry's room. Ginny was reading to him from 'Ivanhoe' as he lay staring blankly at the ceiling.

"You're alive!"

"Of course," Ron replied, "You didn't think you could get rid of us that easily, did you?"

Hermione brought out the sheathed Sword of Gryffindor. "I've been keeping this for you," she said.

Harry stared at it intently, the fire in his eyes flaring at first, and then, just as abruptly, fading to almost nothing. "I can't use it anymore," he said. Hermione put the sword down on the bedside table, but Harry continued to stare straight ahead as fractured memories of his time in the dungeons came back to him. "My hand…"

"It's ok, Harry," Ginny said soothingly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to be ok."

"No more Quidditch," Harry muttered.

"You don't know that, Harry," Hermione objected. "There may be a way, and besides, there are lots of other things you will be able to do…"

"What?" Harry challenged her. "What am I going to be able to do that's going to make up for this?"

Hermione blanched, but Ginny filled in for her. "It's going to take time, Harry. You have to get your strength back, and then you can worry about the rest."

"But just think, Harry," offered Ron, "no more potions…"

Even that didn't to cheer Harry much. He furrowed his head back into his pillow, closed his eyes and refused to speak anymore. Hermione suggested it would be best if she and Ron left, wished him well, and promised to visit again soon. Ginny took up her book and resumed the story where she had left off.

The following days were full of frustration and anguish for Harry as he first began to experience the day-to-day implications of his loss. Even the simplest tasks had become monuments of difficulty: Eating was a messy chore; legible writing all but impossible. Contemplating other basic tasks such as dressing one's self promised an entire new world of difficulties.

"We'll fashion you a prosthetic that will make some tasks easier," Madame Pomfrey explained. "They can be made to look and feel almost like the real thing."

"Why can't you just grow a new one for me, like the bones in my arm during second year?" asked Harry.

"It's not the same thing," the nurse answered. "If I had the pieces here, I could reattach them, but humans just can't regenerate lost limbs – even with magic."

"So this is it then… forever?" Harry asked.

Sadly, Madame Pomfrey nodded in the affirmative.

Harry twitched into awareness from a restless sleep. There, in front of him, Peter Pettigrew loomed as an immense shadow, silhouetted by the light of the moon. It was a shape he knew from half-forgotten nightmares, one that needed no introduction. "Hello, Harry, fancy meeting you here…"

"Wormtail!" Harry stuttered, scooting himself up in the bed.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. I don't have to."

"You did this to me!" Harry said, holding up his right arm.

"That's right, Harry. I did that to you, and you want to know the beautiful part? We're even now…"

"What do you mean even? I had nothing to do with what Voldemort did to you."

"No, fool…the life debt. You saved my life and now I've saved yours. We're even now."

"You call this even?" Harry asked in total disbelief. "I ought to kill you…"

"And how will you do that?" Wormtail mocked him. "Tried any magic lately? Face it, Harry. You're a Squib now… a cripple. The only thing that prevents me from killing you is the knowledge that you are going to suffer far more watching helplessly as the Master rises to victory, and one by one kills everyone you care about and destroys everything dear to you… just like he did your dear Headmaster."

Harry picked up his wand with his left hand and held it clumsily. Wormtail laughed at him.

"Harry? What's going on?" It was Ginny.

"Ginny Weasley," Pettigrew hissed, turning to face the newcomer. "You've grown up … nicely. Too bad I have to kill you now."

Ginny's wand flashed to the ready. "I don't know who you are, but you don't know me very well if you think I'm going to stand here and let you kill me…" She drew back, as if to cast, but hesitated.

Wormtail, however, did not hesitate, and cast a bolt of force at Ginny. The impact of it didn't hit her directly, but instead winged her, causing to spin around and eventually spill onto the ground. Pettigrew closed, preparing another spell. Still on the floor, Ginny cast a Disarming charm in his direction, and while he ducked, used the opportunity to regain her feet.

Realizing that, despite his appearance, she was facing a formidable opponent, Ginny dove for cover behind a hospital bed. Pettigrew's levitated the bed out of the way leaving her exposed and in the open. Her assailant followed up with an Expelliarmus, that caught Ginny square in the torso and threw her against the wall.

As soon as Pettigrew threatened to kill Ginny, and turned his attention to her, Harry sat up, and put his feet unsteadily onto the floor. Slowly he stood up, and the room spun unsteadily around him. It was the first time he had been on his feet since being introduced to Lord Voldemort's dungeons. Lying in bed, he had been sure that he could just get up and walk. On his feet, he found the reality to be far different and simply standing became a chore.

Through force of will, Harry pulled himself to the doorway to find Pettigrew approaching a fallen Ginny. "Everbero!" Harry cast. His aim was off, however and the spell went wild. There was a tremendous crash as the blue bolt of energy struck the ancient stone wall, shattering two nearby windows. Wormtail spun around and cast a Disarming charm at Harry. Completely unable to dodge, Harry impacted against the wall and slumped into darkness.

Ginny watched in terror as Harry fell but seized the chance to regain her feet. Desperately, she looked for cover but found none, and decided to hold her ground. She conjured up the strongest magical shield she knew, and readied a curse while bracing for the onslaught she knew was coming.

"Too bad Harry had to go and ruin things," Pettigrew gloated. "I would have preferred if he could have watched you die…"

The doors to hospital wing suddenly burst open. Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall accompanied by Madame Pomfrey entered the room with wands drawn. Pettigrew started to back away.

"If you so much as flinch," Professor Flitwick said as gravely as his high pitched voice would allow. "I'll blast you into last year..."

Peter Pettigrew looked down at the diminutive figure challenging him, ignoring the others then started to laugh., raising his wand as he did so. Professor Flitwick unhesitatingly cast a succession of spells. The intruder flew against the far wall, impacting with a thud, and crumpling to a heap on the stone floor. Madame Pomfrey rushed to Harry's side, while the others rushed to Ginny's side.

Harry awoke late the next morning and lay staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, until lunchtime, when Ginny came to visit. He found himself completely unable to meet Ginny's eye. Ginny's best efforts could not coax any more than one-word responses. Hampered by time because she had to return to class, Ginny reluctantly left determined to solve the problem when she returned at the end of the day.

"Talk to me, Harry," she said on her return. Harry however, made no effort to speak. Ginny sat beside him and held his hand. "I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me what's bothering you…"

Harry sighed, started to speak, but then stopped. Ginny gave his hand a gentle squeeze in encouragement. Harry sighed again, but then finally spoke. "I'm useless," he stated flatly. "Wormtail could have killed you last night, and I couldn't stop him."

"You're hurt, Harry. You're not even supposed to be walking, let alone doing magic… You're only human, you know."

"I'm supposed to be a bloody Champion. Some champion though – I can't carry a sword or cast a spell… lives depend on me, and I'm a bloody cripple."

"The fate of the world does not rest on your shoulders alone, Harry."

"Maybe it does. I'm the 'Chosen One'."

"Someone else will carry on the fight, the world survived for a long time before you got here, Harry, and it will be here long after you are gone."

"But it's MY job, and I can't do it. I can't even protect you…. I can barely even feed myself."

"It doesn't matter, Harry… I'm here for you. We can work through anything together."

"How are we going to work through this?" Harry asked, holding up the stump where his had once was. "I'm a wizard who can't cast a spell…"

"You can, Harry – you did… You heard the professors – it was your Thunderclap that brought them to investigate. Without that, Pettigrew might easily have killed me. You did save me, Harry."

"It was just luck. I might just have easily have hit you. You don't have to protect me, you've done it in the past and now it's my turn to protect you. Don't deny me that right…"

Harry sighed again. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

Ron and Hermione sat at the foot of the bed looking at each other with silly expressions. Harry was peevish and annoyed at their behavior. It had been more than a year since they had become a couple and he still didn't know which way he disliked seeing them the most – fighting or in these silly, affectionate moods. It wasn't as if they were going to ask his opinion on the matter anyway.

There was a knock at the open door, and all heads turned to see, the surprisingly tall and imposing figure of Walpole standing there. "Hello, Mr. Potter," he said formally. "It's good to see you again. I can't begin to tell you how worried we all were, when we heard the news of your capture, and how relieved we were to here of your return."

Walpole limped slowly into the room and accepted the chair offered to him by Ron. "These are your Confidants, I take it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"Wonderful," Walpole replied. "No need to ask anyone to excuse themselves then… There are certain questions that have to be asked…."

Harry simply nodded.

"Seeing your current state, it would not be presumptuous to say that your time in the custody of the Dark Lord was less than pleasant. One would also assume that he went to great efforts to acquire certain information from you…"

Harry became grim. "I didn't tell him anything."

"Nothing?" Walpole asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nothing," Harry answered flatly.

"You did well by keeping the sword out of the enemy's hands. You are to be commended for that. In no time, I'm sure, you'll be on your feet and leading the fight once again."

"How exactly am I going to do that, Sir?" Harry asked. "My sword carrying days are over."

"Rubbish!" exclaimed Walpole, "We'll conjure you up a fake one, or use an adhesive charm if we have to and glue the sword in place."

"How am I supposed to fight like that?" Harry demanded, becoming irate.

"It isn't your fighting that's important, Mr. Potter, it's you're presence. No one doubts your tenacity or your willingness to single-handedly face You-Know-Who himself, but this isn't a fight for one wizard, no matter how brave he might be. You are a symbol, and as long as Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived', bearer of the sword of Gryffindor, is willing to stand and fight, others will stand with him."

"I can't fight without a hand," Harry snapped.

"Harry might be a symbol, but he's also a man," Ginny objected. "You can't expect him to simply be a prop or a figurehead…"

"I can and do expect just that of him," Walpole said coldly. "There is more at stake here than a young man's pride and ego. Harry has a destiny and a responsibility to fulfill. I understand that he has been seriously injured and that his loss is traumatic, but the fight continues and his place is at the head of it."

"He's right," Hermione said. "You fought bravely, and I owe my life to you, but you just can't quit, Harry. If you have to continue on as a figure head, then that's just what you have to do. Ron and I will be here for you. We'll do the real work behind the scenes while you play the part…"

"That's right, mate," Ron agreed. "Whatever needs to be done, we'll do."

"You call yourself my friends and you can honestly expect me to go through with this?" Harry asked angrily. "How can you know me and honestly believe that I would be part of such a thing?"

"It's your destiny, Harry" replied Hermione. "You don't really have a choice…"

Ginny exploded on to her feet. "Listen here, Hermione Granger. You have no business coming in here and preaching about destiny to Harry. The only reason you're even here is because Harry faced his destiny to save your life. He faced Voldemort for you, because you were hurt and he was afraid you'd die otherwise. The least you can do is show a bit of gratitude."

"Foolishly risking his life was not facing his destiny…"

Ginny slowly went across the room to Hermione. Her face became redder with every step. Staring Hermione squarely in the eye, she tried several times to speak, but choked on her words. When no words came, instead she slapped Hermione's face with all the strength she could muster. Hermione staggered from shock as much as the force, unable to believe what had happened. The imprint of Ginny's hand remained emblazoned on the side of her face.

"Out!" Ginny screamed, pointing at the door. "All of you! Leave now!"

Walpole looked indignant, but rose to his feet. "This isn't over, Mr. Potter. I will permit you some time to reconsider, but I will be back."

Ron, who had also been in shock, finally spoke as if suddenly wakened. "Ginny! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? We're just trying to talk some sense into Harry. He has a job to do, and quite frankly, he hasn't been doing it all that well."

Ginny turned on her brother hand raised and ready to strike. Ron stood his ground.

"Wait!" Harry demanded. All eyes turned to face him. "I have the perfect solution to all of this." He reached over to the bed table with his good hand and picked up the sword. "If I've done such a bloody awful job, and you're so ready to help, why settle for being behind the scenes? Here, take the sword, you carry it and the burden that goes with it." He held the sword out to Ron. "If you think you can do a better job, then by all means, do it."

Ron looked around, unsure of what action to take. Hermione gave him a small nod and he reached out his hand to grasp the sword. It was heavier than he expected, and almost fell as Harry let go of it. With the blade firmly in his grip, Ron went to stand by Hermione.

"This simply will not do," Walpole scowled. "You cannot simply pass this burden on. It still belongs to you…You will hear from me again, Mr. Potter." He turned and walked as purposefully out of the room as his limp would allow. Ron and Hermione followed after him.

Harry was sleeping soundly when Professor McGonagall entered the room with a large black dog beside her. "I've brought a visitor for the both of you," she said politely. "When you're visitor wishes to leave, please have me summoned and I will see that he is escorted safely out." She closed the door as she left.

The black dog grew in stature, and changed in feature until it was no longer a dog at all, but rather, Sirius Black. "Hello, Ginny," he said with a grin. When Ginny did not smile back, his expression changed to one of concern. "What's happened?"

Ginny explained to him the events of the afternoon and the past week. Sirius frowned. "They're really serious about this? Who do they think they are?"

"I'm not going to allow it," Ginny said gravely.

"How are you going to stop them?" Sirius asked. "The Order isn't going to give up easily."

Ginny hesitated before she spoke. "I'm going to take him away… into hiding. You're the only one I've told about this. I haven't even told Harry yet."

"I understand your motivation," Sirius said. "But where will you go? When Harry turns up missing, a lot of people are going to be looking for him."

"I don't know where we'll go yet. Where isn't important, just so long as they don't find Harry…"

Sirius' brow furrowed with concern. "I know a place you can use… a cottage in the Highlands. I use it myself occasionally. It is very remote, very out of the way."

"It sounds wonderful," Ginny said. "We won't be putting you out will we?"

Sirius shook his head. "I'm as concerned about Harry as you are. I would do it myself if I could. Are you sure you want to do this? The Order probably won't be the only one's looking for Harry. It could be very dangerous. There's also the issue of you and Harry finishing school, and your parents. They are definitely not going to approve of their daughter running away."

"If things keep going the way they are, no one is going to finish school. My family will just have to cope. Harry is the most important thing to me."

Sirius nodded. "If I was a responsible adult, I wouldn't do this, but since when have I ever been responsible? For Harry's sake, keep him safe – keep yourself safe. I'll check in on you as often as possible." He fished around in his pockets and pulled out a Port Key, handing it to Ginny. "Don't leave until after I'm gone, morning would probably be best."

Ginny took it gratefully and nodded. "There's one other thing, Sirius," Ginny said softly. "I want to use a Fidelius charm…"

"Good idea," Sirius agreed.

"I want you to be our Secret-Keeper," Ginny added.

Sirius looked as if he had been physically struck. "Me?" he asked.

"Yes, you…" Ginny insisted. "You're the only one who takes me seriously, and the only one I can trust."

Sirius sat down. "Years ago, James asked me to do the same thing, and I refused. Everything that's happened since was a result of my refusing. If only I had accepted, everything would be different… I would have rather died than lose James and Lily, but my best effort to protect them was the cause of their death. I can't be trusted with this, Ginny. I'm a failure."

"You are not a failure!" Ginny insisted. "You acted in good faith. You were betrayed, and that isn't your fault. You would have died before you would have given away Harry's parents – you know that as well as I do. What you couldn't do for them, you can do for Harry. Keep his secret, and keep him safe…"

Sirius remained silent for a while, and then stood. "I'll do it," he said. "I'll meet you at the cottage tomorrow, and we'll cast the charm.

Ginny smiled at him. "Thank you."


	5. Chapter 4 The Leech

Chapter 4 – The Leech

_Author's note: First I want to apologize if I mangle anyone's belief system in this chapter. I did a fair amount of research, but I had to go out on a limb in a few places. Regarding research, all of the battle sites in this chapter are real places, and the geography, as best I can tell from pictures and maps is also reasonably accurate._

_Judged by reader response, I'm not sure anyone is actually reading this, but if you are, I hope you enjoy it_

Sirius Black apparated into a grove of spruce trees at the bottom of a glen. In the shelter of the trees, he transformed himself into the shape of a large black dog and began to pad down the road. The path led him over a ridge and down into another glen. At the low point in the road, he turned off onto a smaller path that led through another grove of trees and to the door of a small cottage. There he transfigured back into human form and knocked at the door.

"Come in, Sirius" answered Harry's voice.

Sirius entered and greeted Harry. Ginny came in from the garden and gave him a warm hello. She went to the kitchen and returned with tea and cakes. They made idle chat for a while before talk turned serious and Harry asked for news of the outside world and the war.

Sirius shook his head sadly. "It's not going well at all. The Ministry has ceased to function as a viable entity. There is an organized resistance, but it is scattered and not as effective as it could be. Voldemort no longer even bothers to hide. The Muggle news is filled with report of his attacks – mostly attributed to terrorists and something called 'fallout' – whatever that is. Hogwarts is essentially closed and being used as a fortress and a headquarters."

"What about Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked.

"They're alive and well. Ron has the sword of Gryffindor, and that carries a lot of weight. He and Hermione are very active in the resistance. They have pushed themselves into a leadership role, by virtue of the sword. While people respect the sword, they don't necessarily respect the one who carries it. Not to put them down, they've had some successes, more than anyone else … They're just not leaders."

"I should be there," Harry said grimly.

"Harry," Ginny said softly. "You did your part. No one can reasonably ask more of you."

"That's easy enough to say," snapped Harry, "but why do I feel like a coward?" Harry reached for a tea cake with his left hand, but dropped it. With his Seeker's reflexes, he reached with his right arm to grab it, but only succeeded in deflecting its path so that it cart-wheeled across the floor, leaving a path of crumbs. Harry got up and attempted to pick up the pieces, but only managed to make a bigger mess.

"Don't worry about that, Harry. I'll get it." Ginny told him.

Disgusted with himself, Harry stood up and left the room. They heard the back door slam telling them Harry had gone into the garden. Ginny frowned to herself and picked up the broken cake.

"Still not taking it well, is he?" Sirius asked.

"Actually," Ginny replied, "This is a pretty good day. He hates being this way; he hates not being in the middle of things. Sometimes I think he hates everything and everyone."

"It's hard to believe that medical magic can't find a way to replace his hand. It just boggles my mind that in thousands of years of practicing magic, no wizard or witch has ever come up with a way."

"Actually one did," Ginny said. "Nuada, the king of Ireland lost a hand in battle and Diancecht the Leech made him a new one out of silver. I forgot all about that until just now…"

"Too bad, he doesn't make house calls…" Sirius remarked. "I assume this was a long time ago…"

"Around the time of the Trojan Wars I think, but there might be a way…" She stood up suddenly. "Can you stay here for a while and take care of Harry?"

:"Sure, I guess" Sirius answered. "How long? Where are you going?"

Ginny grabbed her bag and cloak. "Ireland," she answered.

Draco stood at the table staring at a stretched out map. Small figurines had been placed at various locations to represent the presence of forces of both the Dark Lord and his opponents. Lord Voldemort explained his strategy in great detail outlining specifically the part each of his Lieutenants was to follow. In spite of himself, Draco grimaced and looked up to see his master staring at him.

"You disapprove of something, young Malfoy?" Lord Voldemort asked with a sneer.

Draco trembled. In spite of his presence as a member of the High Council, he had long since given up the notion that he was vital or not expendable. Since he had been surrendered to Harry that day, he had remained ever vigilant, ever wary. He remained loyal to his master, but he let no opportunity pass to gather power or advantage to himself. Now the Dark Lord stood scowling at him for having questioned his wisdom.

"Out with it, Malfoy. Speak your mind, if you have one."

Draco swallowed hard, trying to decide on the proper course to take. In all likelihood he was going to feel the agony of the Cruciatus within a few minutes. He might as well make it worth the pain. "It's a good plan, Master, but it won't work…"

"Really?" snarled Lord Voldemort, reaching for his wand. "Please, share your brilliant insight with us… and this had better be good."

Draco took a deep breath and began. "The enemy is being led by Ron Weasley. I know him. He's a chess player. If we do this…" he moved a group of figurines forward, "Weasley will counter like this…" he moved more figurines, "flanking us and dividing our forces into smaller, less effective units. In all likelihood he will then call in his reserves to widen the wedge. We will then be forced to choose between retreating, or having our troops chewed up.

"If instead, we move these units here," more figurines were moved, "and these here… he will deploy his forces here… or here." Draco pointed at two locations on the map. "In either case, if we put our reserves here, and here, we can out maneuver him and cut him off from the rest of his army. He'll be forced to retreat toward the sea, unable to call for reinforcements from Hogwarts. It will then be a matter of pushing him back, and grinding away at his troops."

Finally finished, Draco stepped back, and tried to brace himself for the curse he was sure would arrive. Lord Voldemort remained silent though, pondering the new arrangement on the map. For several minutes he remained in silent thought before speaking.

"Are you so sure of this Weasley? Can you make this happen?" The Dark Lord asked.

Draco nodded. "Yes, M'lord. I've noticed it for some time in his strategies. I am quite sure of it now. I can make this happen."

"If you fail," hissed Voldemort, "You will die a very slow and painful death."

"I understand, M'lord," Draco answered respectfully.

"See that you do. I am turning over field command to you. I have matters to attend to elsewhere, but I will be watching closely. Do not attempt to deceive me. I will return shortly"

Draco bowed humbly. Voldemort disapparated with a pop, leaving Draco alone amongst the other Lieutenants and Circle members. Realizing the need to act decisively, Draco began issuing orders. The other occupants of the room, some reluctantly, began to move in response. When finally he was alone, Draco smiled to himself.

Ginny wandered among the ruins of ancient Tara until she found herself at the foot of a long low mound. Carefully, she walked around it, looking for the entrance. It was so well hidden that she didn't find it until her second go around – gray stones, over grown by weeds, and recessed by time into the soft earth. Carefully, Ginny cleared away the brush and excavated as much of the stones as possible with her hands. Once clear she traced the carvings of the stones with her wand until they began to glow with magical light. "Oscail," she spoke, and what had once been grass-covered turf shimmered and became a black void.

Without a second thought, Ginny stepped through the portal and into the mound. The scene around her was not what she had expected - not that she'd had any idea on what to expect in the first place. Inside the mound was much like the outside had been except that it was warm and summer and what had been ruins was now an intact but ancient city. Despite the temperature, she pulled her cloak up over her head and stepped out into streets of Tara.

Ginny wandered through the city in awe. Since childhood she had loved the stories of ancient Ireland and the Tuatha De Danann, had grown up reading every scrap she could get her hands on and even learned Irish to fully appreciate the flavor of it. Everyone had told her she was crazy to learn Irish, but now she felt it had been worth every agonizing moment.

"Pardon me," she said to a passer-by, in her best Irish, "Can you tell me where I might find Diancecht?"

The man looked at her oddly and she repeated herself slowly. This time he seemed to comprehend and pointed away to the castle on the hill. "Diancecht lives there, in the house of the king." Ginny had a hard time understanding him as well, his language was very archaic and she had to pay very close attention to make any sense of it. Ginny thanked him and headed towards the hilltop fortress.

Unlike most Irish castles, the High King of the Sidhe lived behind stone walls. Ginny approached the gates in awe. The call of the gatekeeper brought her back to awareness. "Who are you? And what is your business with the King?" the warder demanded.

"I am searching for Diancecht the Leech," she answered. "My business is with him rather than the king."

Again Ginny was the object of a puzzled gaze. "You speak our language poorly," the guard replied. "Strangers are rare here, whence come you?"

It took several seconds for Ginny to tease out the meaning of his words. "Kernow," she answered, "from the village if Ottery, St. Catchpole."

"Indeed?" asked the guard, "A rare visit indeed, especially a young lass such as yourself… You must dine tonight in the Great hall, in the company of the king and share with us the news and stories of your land."

Ginny bowed to the guard, thinking it was the right thing to do. "You honor me with your hospitality, but really I must speak with Diancecht on a matter of great importance."

"You may speak with the Leech, of course, but surely you must be tired from your journey and must rest before you return? It is our custom to welcome travelers and offer them supper and lodging in exchange for their tales."

"I will gladly accept," Ginny replied. As she thought about it, a feast in the company of the Sidhe and the remnants of the Tuatha De Danann appealed to her. "It would be wrong to reject such a generous offer."

The gatekeeper, satisfied, gave her directions to find the home of Diancecht. Ginny crossed the green sward of the courtyard until she found herself before a low stone house and knocked on the door. Avery tall man in a gray robe with reddish graying hair and beard answered.

"I am searching for Diancecht, The Leech," Ginny stated.

"Well, you've found him," the old man answered. "Is your quest at an end, or do you seek something further?"

"I've come to ask for help," answered Ginny. "You alone have the knowledge I seek."

Diancecht's face brightened somewhat. "That may be," he answered, "I am the Leech of the Tuatha De Danann and learned my craft from Danu herself, but I do not pass on such knowledge to strangers. Show yourself and tell me what is you are searching for."

Ginny pulled back her hood, and freed her hair. "I'm Ginny Weasley," she offered with a curtsy.

"A mortal?" Diancecht asked in surprise. "It has been a very long time since the last mortal came to visit Tara beneath the barrow, even by our measuring of time. It has seemed as if all knowledge of our deeds had been forgotten. Come in, lass, and tell me what quest brings you to the Fir Sidhe?"

Ginny was escorted into the house of Diancecht, given food and wine, which she consumed readily. When she was done, The Leech asked her to tell him what had brought her.

"I have a friend whose hand was lost in battle and destroyed. In the history of magic, you alone have constructed a new hand that functioned as the original. I've come to ask you to make one for him."

"That is very high magic, even for me, and such magic can only be called on for the sake of kings and heroes. It carries with it great responsibility for both the Leech and the recipient. Is your 'friend' a king or a hero?"

"He isn't a king, but he is a hero," Ginny answered. She then told him Harry's history, of his childhood, and his battle against Voldemort, and how he came to be captured and maimed. Throughout her story, Diancecht nodded and listened attentively. Not until she had finished did he speak.

"So magic is still practiced in the world above? I am surprised to hear that really. We've long believed that it had died out. Harry is both a wizard and a warrior? a curious combination… rarely does a mind that grasps the one have aptitude for the other."

"Harry is the exception to many rules," Ginny replied. "To be incapacitated in such a way is torture for him. Please tell me that you will create a new hand for him."

Diancecht frowned. "I cannot do that," he answered.

Ginny's heart fell to the floor. "Then there is no hope…"

"Not true," countered Diancecht. "I cannot do it, but perhaps you can. The craft of the Leech is bound to the land and its people. However noble your Harry might be, he is neither of my land nor my people. The power of the Tuatha De Danann no longer extends to your world except on rare occasions, but so long as magic remains in the world above, there is hope. If you would see your Harry's hand restored, then you must become a Leech and craft it yourself."

"What do I have to do?" Ginny asked.

"There is much you will have to learn. It will take time, but I will teach you all you need to know."

Ginny frowned. "Time is not a luxury. The Dark Lord advances daily and before long there won't be anything to save."

"There is no quick solution to this problem, but all is not lost.. Time does not pass here as it does in your world. A day here can be a year above, or a year can be a day. Much depends on the path one follows to arrive and depart. I will teach you all that I can in as short a time as possible, that is the best that I can do."

"Then I must accept," Ginny said, "and learn as quickly as I can."

An owl landed on the table in front of Draco with a message attached to its leg. Draco detached it and read it with a smile. When he was done, he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire. He then returned his attention to the table repositioning the icons representing forces of both sides. Carefully he studied the new arrangement and pondered the implications.

Suddenly, a new thought came to him. There was a factor he had been overlooking previously, a weakness to his enemy previously left un-exploited. His brain went into overdrive thinking of how to best put it into motion. When he had worked things out to his satisfaction, he began sending out owls with new orders. He then summoned the House Elves to gather up everything and move his head quarters.

At dawn, Draco stood on a high ridge over looking the valley below and the lower ridges on the opposite side where Ron had made his camp. At precisely 6:30, a vanguard of mountain trolls advanced on the camp from the north and the enemy sprang to life. Flashes of magic reflected off of the low clouds and the air was soon filled with the cries of battle, the crackle of lightening, and screams of the wounded and dying.

With in minutes of the trolls attack, blacked robed Death Eaters approached from the south. Deeming the approaching wizards to be a greater threat than the phalanx of gray behemoths, Ron's forces wheeled to counter them. Volleys of magic flew in both directions. The front lines of both armies crumpled and fell, but the troops behind them continued to advance until they were engaged in a full melee.

When Ron's army turned to face the oncoming wizards, only a small contingent was left to contain the Trolls. Slowly the trolls fell to the defender's magic, but not before dozens of troops had been smashed by large stone hammers, tossed aside like dolls and broken like china. The ground became red with the scarlet stain of blood. When the last of the trolls was dispatched, the remnants of the defenders joined the main force.

Draco sent up a magical flare to initiate the next part of his plan. The ground along the eastern ridge erupted in a spray of small dirt and stone fragments. Crazed goblins whooped as they poured out of holes in the ground. They were small, stout, sallow creatures with stringy gray hair and red caps on their heads and they crashed on the flanks of the opposing army like a wave on rocks, first striking at their opponent's knees and then swarming those who fell, and ripping them to shreds.

The body of Ron's army began to fall back. It was an orderly retreat though and Draco was forced to give them credit for that. He sent up another flare as a signal and his troops changed their tactics. While they continued to harass the forces of Light, they no longer attempted to hold them in fixed combat, but instead the back ranks maneuvered and elongated the line so that the enemy was left with a single direction in which to retreat – towards the west-northwest.

Yet another flare was sent up and a cloud of Cornish pixies descended from the clouds to harass those below. The pixies saw little distinction between the opposing forces and attacked both with equal vigor. The orderly retreat of Ron's army crumbled and fell into a full rout. Those of Draco's army not dealing with the small blue pests hurled fire and lightning at their foes to encourage the retreat until at last only one army stood on the field.

With the battle over, Draco returned to the house he had commandeered as a headquarters. The bodies of its former Muggle occupants still hung in the trees outside. Several owls bearing casualty and intelligence reports were waiting for him. He was still sifting through these when Lord Voldemort himself arrived.

"Report!" the Dark Lord ordered.

Draco rose and bowed before his master. "The enemy is retreating, M'lord. They suffered heavy casualties and withdrew."

"You did not crush them?" Voldemort challenged.

"No M'lord, not crushed but for the first time they are fleeing and wounded. They also don't know it yet, but they are cornered." Draco showed him the map. "When they stop to regroup, they are going to find themselves with the sea on three sides and our army on the fourth."

"They are Wizards, you know. They can always apparate themselves out of your trap…" Voldemort countered.

"That is true, but they can't simply abandon us to roam around the country side unchecked… especially if we're killing Muggles as we go" he added with a smirk.

Voldemort laughed. "True, they will do anything to save their precious Muggles. Now explain to me why you lost a whole company of trolls this morning."

"It was a calculated risk," Draco answered. "Trolls are expendable at any rate. They killed at least three of the enemy for everyone that fell. It was an acceptable loss in my opinion – for two reasons: First, it created the illusion for Weasley that he had cleared a way of retreat, the way in which I wanted him to retreat. Secondly, it forced him into a position where he was forced to sacrifice troops. Weasley is playing chess, remember. To a chess player, sacrificing a unit is a valid strategy, so long as it contributes to the greater good. Armies are not made of chessmen though, especially his army.

"If I order my troops onto a hopeless assault, they will obey without question because they know that to disobey is a surer guarantee of death than battle. The enemy fights to live though. Every death for them is a tragedy, and every death eats away at morale - all the more so when the troops feel as if they are nothing more than pawns in the game of their esteemed General."

Voldemort appeared contemplative. "I came here prepared to kill you, Master Malfoy, but after consideration I believe that would be rash. I will forgive you the loss of my trolls and allow you to continue as my general. Your continued existence rests on your ability to deliver victory."

At the first words, Draco's blood ran icy cold. A hard truth that he had been dancing around but refusing to accept reared its head once again. It was a matter he would deal with later. He maintained the mask he kept in front of his master and bowed slightly. "If I may be so bold, M'lord. There is another matter I would suggest."

"Out with it," demanded the Dark Lord.

"Hogwarts should be placed under siege, immediately if possible. Whatever reinforcements may be available to Weasley will undoubtedly come from there."

Voldemort nodded. "I'll see to it. Summon me for the final battle, I want to be present when these rabble are finally crushed." With out further comment, the Dark Lord disapparated.

Ginny toiled over a boiling cauldron, carefully adding prepared herbs and other ingredients as Diancecht instructed her. By her best reckoning, she had been in the land of the Sidhe for 6 months, and everyday had included endless study, practice and lecture from Diancecht. The Study of Leech-craft had consumed nearly every second of her life during this time. Only in the quiet moments before sleep claimed her, or briefly over her meals did she have the opportunity to think of Harry and project to him her feelings of hope and love.

"Our magic," continued Diancecht, "is the same energy as yours, but we harness it differently. The magic of the Sidhe is derived from the land, from the earth we walk on, the waters of its streams, the sun, stars and moon which crown the sky and the people, beast, and birds which call it home. We do not so much use magic as direct or rearrange it.

"Although we also use spells, much as your people do, the true art of our magic comes from understanding the inherent qualities of our surroundings and reshaping or redirecting that nature. The Leech uses the power of his land to keep his lands whole, which is the limitation of is his power. With in his own land he has the cooperation of rock and tree and sky, but outside he is simply another sorcerer."

Ginny nodded understandingly but continued to mind her kettle. Diancecht's instruction so far had squeezed what seem like five years of Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and Charms into only a tenth of that time. If Diancecht were a kinder teacher than Snape, he was no less demanding or exacting.

"Will the use of magic as my people use it interfere with the magic of the Leech?" Ginny asked.

"Not as a rule," Diancecht answered, "although some darker and more corrupt magics might. In those cases the matter is decided between the will of the casters. In general you will find that the craft of the Leech is superior to other crafts when dealing with nature and healing, and perhaps less so in other matters. In all cases, the strength of Leech is determined by the extent to which he works with natural forces rather than against them."

Through out the day they continued this way. When Ginny's brew was finished, the old Leech tested it and critiqued it, instructing her on improvements she should make in the future and reinforcing the areas she had done well in. When the concoction was bottled and put away, they gathered their cloaks and sickles to wander the surrounding lands in search of other herbs.

"How many medicinal herbs are used by the Leech?" Diancecht queried her. "And what is the significance of their number?"

"Three Hundred and Sixty Five," answered Ginny, "One for each day of the year, and one for each joint and nerve of the body."

"What are the three wounds that Leech-craft cannot heal?" Diancecht continued.

"A severed head, a damaged brain, and damage to spinal marrow." Ginny answered automatically.

"What is the medicinal property of Maiden's Hair?" The Leech challenged.

"It is used for coughs and other respiratory ailments, also for jaundice and ailments of the kidneys," Ginny answered

As they walked through the countryside, Diancecht continued to quiz her while identifying new plants to her and teaching her the lore of rocks and trees and animals. Ginny soaked all of it in with determined effort. Leaving Hogwarts had been a tough decision for her to make, and only Harry's welfare had been enough to convince her to do it. Learning from Diancecht had filled a void she had thought would be permanent.

Sirius went outside to find Harry sitting in the garden, making a half-hearted attempt to rid it of gnomes. Sirius watched silently as his godson vented on the diminutive creatures. The bright-eyed and hopeful lad Sirius had first met was gone, replaced with a young scarred man, defeated and angry, and resigned to a life of misery. Having seen enough, Sirius stepped forward making enough sound to alert Harry to his presence.

"Ginny?" Harry asked turning around.

Sirius held up his hand in a calming gesture. "No," he answered, "just me. Still no word from Ginny."

Harry's face sank and he returned to snatching gnomes and hurling them over the fence.

"What are you going to do with yourself, Harry?" Sirius asked. "You can't spend your whole life tossing gnomes over the fence."

"You didn't come here to convince me to play figure-head did you?" Harry asked with insolence in his voice. "Save your breath, it isn't going to happen."

"I never thought I would live to see a Potter coward." Sirius said with disgust. "You're a ghost who hasn't bothered to die yet."

Harry turned to look at Sirius with steel in his eyes. "You have no idea how much I wish I was dead. I have prayed for death, begged and pleaded for it. You have no idea how much I dread waking up each day not being able to fasten my own robe, or write my name, or even cast a bloody first-year Leviosa spell. How dare you call me a coward? Even my father hid from Voldemort."

"Your father hid because he had a wife and child…"

"But when he was dead, he was allowed to stay dead. He didn't have to live on as a ghost after the fact. I do."

"You're not dead, Harry"

"I'm worse than dead," Harry countered. "I'm maimed, crippled and useless. I should have died, I wish I had died. I tried to do the right thing, and this is the reward I got for it. I couldn't even get a clean death… instead I get this." Harry turned away and pulled off his glasses, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his damaged limb.

Sirius moved closer to him and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're allowed to hurt, Harry. I just can't stand to see you live this way. You can't let You-Know-Who have this victory. You can't let him destroy you this way. You're a fighter, Harry; a warrior; a hero. You can't just give up."

Harry accepted Sirius' hand at first but at the mention of the word hero, he shrugged it off and stepped forward, out of reach. "I am not a hero. I'm just a guy who tried to do the right thing. I never wanted to be famous, I never asked for the Sword of Gryffindor. All I ever wanted to was to be just a normal person with friends and parents and to be a good person. I didn't want any of this."

Sirius' face became tight. "You can't change the past, Harry, but you can shape the future. You don't have to do it alone either. I'm here for you, and so is Ginny."

"Ginny deserves better," Harry said bitterly.

"Yes, she does," agreed Sirius. "So give it to her. She loves you, you know."

Harry nodded. "I love her too. I just wish I could be the man she deserves to have."

"Hands aren't what make you a man, Harry. It's your heart that does. So long as you don't let Voldemort or anyone else take that away from you, you'll always be whole. Fight back, Harry, even if it's in a small way. It's the fight that matters, not the victory."

Harry nodded. "You're right. I'm tired of being helpless. I don't know how to fight back though. Everything I know how to do requires a hand."

"Learn to use the other one then, start small and reclaim your life. I'll help anyway I can."

"I'm pretty good at tossing gnomes," Harry said with a thin smile, turning around to face Sirius.

"You're an amateur," Sirius said with a grin. "Let me show you how a pro does it."

The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon chasing gnomes around the garden, yelling curses at both each other and the gnomes. Finally they collapsed from exhaustion onto the ground grasping for air. Sirius stretched his aching muscles and looked over at his companion. For the first time in ages, Harry was smiling.

The rain fell in buckets as Draco sloshed through the mud towards his headquarters in the Welsh village of Dolwyddelan. The village was completely occupied by Death Eaters, its Muggle inhabitants had been either killed or fled. It was part of his grand strategy: by terrorizing the civilian population of the area, he ensured that his opponents would remain focussed on the area, and that they were kept on the defensive

Draco stepped inside to find his captains assembled as ordered, murmuring amongst themselves, until they noticed his arrival. Quickly they snapped to silence and attention. Draco began his briefing and explained the plan for the upcoming battle, the timetable, the signals, and each unit's role in the impending battle.

"Any questions?" Draco asked when he had finished.

"It's too complicated," said McInnis. "It'll never work."

"I asked for questions," Draco snapped back, "not comments." He stepped in front of McInnis with fury in his eyes.

McInnis was an imposing figure, easily a foot taller than Draco, and at least thirty years older. McInnis answered Draco's stare of anger with one of contempt. "This is war, not a bloody Quidditch match. Only a Sprog like yourself would come in here and expect real wizards to put their lives on the line for this insanity?"

"I," hissed Draco, "am the first Wizard in a thousand years to lead a successful army in the field against those insipid do-gooders. Lord Voldemort himself gave me this command, and until he takes it away, you will follow my orders… or else…."

"Or else you'll have your father hire some goons to rough me up? That is the Malfoy way, isn't it?"

Draco drew his dagger in a flash and buried it to the hilt in the older man's abdomen. Several seconds passed before McInnis even knew what had happened. As realization spread across his face, Draco twisted the blade and jerked up on it, lengthening the wound as blood began to spill onto the floor.

"That," drawled Draco as he withdrew his blade, "is the Malfoy way. Too bad you won't be around long enough to put the lesson to good use."

McInnis crumpled to the floor, crying out for help. No one in the room made the slightest motion towards him. Draco waved the bloody dagger at the remaining Captains. "Any one else have an opinion they want to share?"

The room remained silent except for the dying moans of McInnis. Draco wiped off his blade on his already blood stained robe and re-sheathed it. "Take your positions then, the battle commences in one hour." His officers filed out silently. Draco summoned a messenger to remove McInnis' body and then left to change his own spoiled robe and cloak.

The opposing army was occupying the castle and village of Criccieth on the northwestern coast of Wales. Draco and his armies rallied in the square of the even smaller village of Pentrefelin, just on the other side of the ridge from Criccieth. Smaller forces had been deployed to most of the surrounding villages. At the specified time, the Dark Mark appeared above each of them simultaneously, and the squads of Death Eaters began a general rampage.

Within minutes, squads of Aurors and Hit-Wizards appeared to counter the threat. As the smaller skirmishes erupted, more Dark Marks were sent up, signaling the next phase of the battle. Draco sent up flares and the bulk of his force moved on Criccieth – first on the village, then on the castle itself. Fire rained from the sky and the earth shook as Giants and Trolls tore at the ancient walls

When it became apparent what Draco's true objective was, counter-signals were sent up, and all but a hand full of Aurors and Hit-Wizards were recalled to counter the main offensive. When the forces of Light launched a counter attack to break the assault on Castle Criccieth, Draco signaled his troops to disengage and withdraw. At the same time, larger units of Death Eaters were sent to renew the offensive on certain key villages.

What had been the sites of limited duels less than an hour before now became full-scale engagements. The small contingents of Aurors that had been left behind were quickly overwhelmed. As their opponents fell, the black hooded Death Eaters once again returned to causing mayhem and destruction. Orders had been given to kill as few Muggles as possible, believing that live and panicked Muggles were much harder for the enemy to control and contain than corpses.

The forces of Castle Criccieth had little choice but to send troops out to counter the offensive in force. Once his outlying units were fully engaged, Draco renewed his assault on the castle. Unsure as to whether or not this was simply another feint; the Aurors in the field were ordered to hold their positions. Draco countered by calling reserve units up to attack still more of the surrounding villages. When those units were fully engaged, Draco committed all of his remaining reserves, except for one special unit, to the assault of the castle

Again he was forced to admit that Weasley was putting up a good fight. To Draco's mind that only made his impending victory all the sweeter. He sent up a last signal and his 'special' unit began to deploy. A swarm of Acromantulas, all of various sizes and stages of development swarmed the castle. The stone walls began to writhe as if they were a single living mass as the larger arachnids scaled the vertical walls and the smaller ones slipped through cracks in the ancient mortar.

Draco smiled to himself knowing the effect this new terror would personally have on Weasley. As expected, with in minutes, the opposition began to apparate away, and the skies of Criccieth became quiet. Draco redistributed his forces to the outlying villages and by noon, all of the remaining Aurors had retreated or were overrun. Secure in his victory, Draco returned to his headquarters and demanded that his House Elf prepare lunch.

Ginny had spent the entire day walking the fields and forests surrounding Tara. In her basket, she had collected a supply of herbs. The nature of her training had changed, no longer did Diancecht accompany on these trips, and although there was always some specific and demanding task she had to accomplish, she found these trips refreshing and invigorating. Everywhere, the countryside spoke to her. Diancecht had instructed her in the languages of the birds and beasts and trees and rocks. Her quests no longer seemed so challenging when nature itself whispered the answers in her ears. Diancecht only replied that it was a part of the training, and encouraged her to use every resource available to her.

She came to a small stream, and stopped to bathe her feet in the cool water. The spirit of the stream greeted her and welcomed her. She spoke back to the stream and thanked it for the kindness and coolness of its water. She ate a hand full of berries she had gathered earlier and relaxed in the cool shade of an Alder tree. The tree embraced her and bent its branches to give her more shade. Contently she closed her eyes and felt the web of life pulse around her.

Her peace was soon shattered though. A crow landed and began to caw at her relentlessly until she answered it. "Master Diancecht wishes you to return," the crow told her.

Ginny regained her feet and bowed to the crow. "Please tell him that I will return immediately." The crow squawked at her and took to the air. Ginny collected her basket, smoothed her robe and began the hike back toward the castle at Tara.

Arriving at the home of Diancecht, she found him tending a cauldron, muttering incantations and slowly adding ingredients to his brew. Ginny sat silently waiting until he was finished, but carefully observed everything he did. She had heard stories of Diancecht's failings in her time here, but there was no disputing the mastery he had of his art. Watching him at work was frequently as instructional as the lessons he gave her.

"Was someone bitten by a snake?" Ginny asked.

"You are as attentive as ever, I see." Diancecht finally spoke. "What am I brewing?"

"You've added Tarragon and Bugloss, so far that I've noticed. Both are used to combat the venom of snakes."

Diancecht smiled at her. "You have learned much and your time here is almost done. There is much that is still before you, but every Leech must perfect his or her craft in their own time and in their own way. I have but one lesson left for you before you return to your own land."

"Harry's hand…" Ginny stated.

Diancecht nodded in answer. "Tell me, have you any idea how such a thing might be done?"

Ginny replied with her theories about the magical binding of nerve and sinew to artificial limb, of the enchantment of metal and silk and other materials to make the new limb respond as if it were real. Diancecht nodded attentively, asking her pointed questions of which the answering gave her new insight. The nature of this lesson, the one that had been Ginny's goal since her tutelage had begun, was far different than she had expected it to be. What he was teaching her now, besides the obvious, was how to teach herself and the methods by which she would be able to extend her own craft.

For weeks the discussion continued, not as lecture, but as guided exploration. At several points their talks would become near-arguments as each sought to prove the supremacy of their view. Usually, Diancecht proved himself to be correct, but on those occasions when Ginny proved that she was the correct one, he would only smile. "There are many ways to accomplish a goal," he would say in the end, "and every Leech must find their own best way."

At the beginning of every week, Diancecht would ask her the same question. "How would you create a new hand for your Harry?" Each week, Ginny knew she was closer to having the right answer, until finally, the final pieces clicked and she knew that she understood. When she explained the process to Diancecht, he congratulated her and then became serious.

"At the height of my prowess, I constructed such a hand for Nuada, who was then our king. It was an act of vanity, but to some extent, all Leech craft is. Although we work with the forces of nature, Leech craft is at its heart, and act of defiance. It postpones and puts off the cycle of life and death, and to what end? Why should any life be preserved? Or the consequences of wound or injury interrupted?

"Because life is an end in itself, and the Leech is a champion of life in the never ending battle of life and growth against death and decay. Just as every warrior wishes to slay the fiercest opponent, the Leech wishes to cure the greatest ills, and by doing so does as much to protect the land and its people as the warrior does with his sword. Death is our greatest enemy, but although he can be defeated, the Leech must forgo that one struggle. The Leech may postpone death by the healing of wounds, but is not allowed to banish it completely. Death is part of the great circle and must be permitted to claim its due so that new life may take its place.

"Two of my children also followed the path of the Leech: Miach and Airmid. They were very talented, but each of them forgot this vital point. I created Nuada's silver hand to make him whole again so that he could reclaim his crown, and lead our people to victory against the Fomorians. It was a great accomplishment, but still an act of vanity. My work was flawed although I would not admit at the time, and where my craft joined flesh, the wound festered. Miach my son sought to out do me. He recovered Nuada's severed hand, revived it and grafted it back to Nuada's arm.

"It seemed a miraculous thing, but it was an abomination. Dead flesh should not be joined with living flesh. What is dead must remain dead until it is reborn through the great cycle. I challenged my son and he accused me of jealousy. Harsh words were exchanged and eventually we came to blows. In the end I slew my son, but even in death he defied me. Atop his burial mound, in ordered fashion grew each of the 365 medicinal herbs. My daughter, Airmid gathered up these herbs with the intent to banish death. I could not allow this to happen, and so I scattered the herbs to the four winds, so that they now grow at random, and scattered.

"I regret the death of my son, but my duty as a Leech takes supremacy over all other bonds – even that of a father. So it must also be with you. You have learned much and will one day be as great a Leech as any who have ever walked your lands. You must do so under geas though, or I will not permit you to leave."

Ginny's face darkened. "What geas will I be bound to?"

"You must swear an oath to me, and to your homeland, the Kingdom of the Beurla, to protect and preserve your land and its people. You may never leave its bounds under penalty of death."

"I swear it," Ginny answered solemnly.

"You must also require this same oath of your Harry, before he may accept the limb you create for him. Together, you will serve as protectors and guardians, and against your combined strength, few if any will have hope of success."

"I accept these terms," said Ginny.

Diancecht nodded. "Tomorrow at dawn, I will accompany to the dolmen and see that you are returned to the proper place and time."

The sun rose to find Ginny and Diancecht standing before the pile of ancient stones Ginny had used to first enter the land. A cloud of crows cawed loudly as they flew overhead.

"I have given you a geas and you have willing accepted the mantle of Leech. I have taught you much and you have learned more. Now you must return home and begin your great work. You have been a worthy student, and as it should be, I have learned from teaching you. I give you this cauldron as a gift of parting. Much like Dagda's, a great host may feed from it and none leave unsatisfied. Perhaps not so many as the original, but I am sure you will find a worthy use for it."

Ginny bowed and thanked him. "I have no gift to offer in return," she said. "I came here with only the cloak on my back."

Diancecht shook his head and held up his hand. "No need," he said. "It is the customary for the master to give his apprentice a parting gift as they begin their own work. Succeed in your work and that will be gift enough."

Ginny smiled in answer. Diancecht began to work the spell that would open the portal to the world above, and Ginny stood patiently until he completed it. She picked up her cauldron and started to enter when Diancecht called out to her. "On the other side, you will find yourself in the land of the Beurla, as near to your home as I could arrange. The passage between our worlds is imprecise at best. Go now, and remember that once you step foot in your lands, you may never leave them again…"

Ginny stepped through the portal and into darkness.


	6. Chapter 5 Harry's Second Return

Chapter 5 – Harry's Second Return

Ginny stepped into gray light and cold mist. Gathering her cloak tightly about her she looked around to determine her location. Quickly she recognized landmarks that told her she was but a few miles from Sirius' cottage. She cast a warming charm and began to trek over the hills towards home.

Even with her charm in place, the chill bit at her. In the land of the Sidhe, it had been eternal summer. This is home, she thought, best to get used to it. The thought that she would never be able to travel outside of England finally struck her. This was her land now, but she belonged to it just as much as it belonged to her. How would Harry feel about it, she wondered.

Topping the crest of a low hill, she found the land charred and burnt. Everywhere there was the residue of magic. Trees, still smoldering, cried out in agony. Their slow, plaintive songs of pain moved Ginny to tears and she found herself unable to leave without doing something to end their suffering. "Quiet now," she whispered softly and performed extinguishing charms to put out the embers. When the fires were all out, she cast a soothing spell on the whole area.

"A Leech!" the trees cried out in surprise. A great rustling filled the air, radiating out from the grove where she stood. Ginny bowed to the trees, said kind words, and departed. From that point on, the nature of her journey changed. Birds flew in to chirp and squawk at her, foxes, rabbits, squirrels and other animals lined the path. All called out to her, some in curiosity and greeting, many requesting healing either for themselves or their young.

Ginny healed those she could, but for everyone that went away satisfied, two more took their place. Even the rocks called out to her asking her to erase the scars of war they had suffered. It became apparent to Ginny that at this rate, she was never going to get anywhere. Treating the symptoms of war would never alleviate the cause.

"Dear friends," she addressed everything around her. "I know you've all suffered a great deal from war and destruction. I will do everything I can to return things to their proper order, but until the cause of the destruction is halted, the damage will continue. The land must have its champion, and when the Dark Lord is defeated, I promise to set everything right that is within my power…"

"A champion?" asked a myriad of voices. "Who? Where? When? Can we help?"

Ginny quieted them down. "Yes, a champion, Harry Potter. He has been injured and I am going to make him whole so that he can meet the Dark One in battle. You can help too, all of you. When Harry returns to the field, assist him in whatever way he request, and spread the word as far as you can that he is coming."

A hundred voices answered in the affirmative, and the crowd began to disperse. Despite the weather, the air became alive with the sounds of life that had previously been hidden. Ginny smiled. It was the sound of spring. She gathered up her herbs and her cauldron and resumed her journey. The trees spread their branches over her path to shield her from the drizzle, and birds sang happy tunes for her to keep her company. The walks went much quicker, and in short order she found herself at the cottage she shared with Harry.

She opened the door, took off her cloak, and hung it on a hook. The cottage was neat and tidy, not how she'd expected to find it at all, having left it in the care of two men. Memories came flooding back to her as she took in the familiar surroundings. While studying under Diancecht, she had been entirely too busy for such things as homesickness – now it all caught up to her in a rush.

"Sirius?" called a voice. It was Harry, and just the sound of his voice caused her heart to leap.

"No," she answered, "It's me…"

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed, and instantly appeared in the doorway. Ginny had to stifle a laugh at the sight of him. Over his robe he was wearing her checkered apron and carrying a wooden spoon. Harry rushed to her and put his arms around her and pulled her tightly into his chest. She put her own arms around him, and hugged him back as hard as she could. "You're finally home…I've missed you so much…" Harry whispered softly into her ear.

For long minutes, they remained that way. Ginny had no words to express her feelings. Although she knew that she was important to Harry, she had never known exactly how he felt. While Harry might be an emotional person, it was rare for him to show such personal feelings, and never had he shown such warmth towards her.

"Look at you," commented Harry, pulling her back so that he could look at her. "You've changed… I think you're taller even… and stronger… calmer… I don't really know how to describe it."

Ginny smiled. "You've changed too. You even look happy. Then there's the apron and the spoon. I just have to know what that's about."

It had been a lighthearted comment, but Harry's expression became serious. Ginny's smile faded as well and she wondered if she had said something wrong. His hand was still on her shoulders and he continued to keep his gaze locked on her. He leaned in closer, a struggle visible on his face. Cautiously and tentatively, he kissed her on the lips. It was a soft and gentle kiss, more of a question than a statement. Ginny was caught completely by surprise. As best she could, she returned it, but the moment was all too brief.

She had returned home as a Leech, as The Leech, and felt proud and accomplished. Within moments of returning, and with only a dozen words or so, Harry had swept all of that away. Now she was just Ginny. It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant. Her heart pulled at her, and she tried to reconcile the tangle of emotions she felt. She was 'Just Ginny' but she was standing in front of 'Just Harry'. The dream she had held so closely had become real in her absence. But what of Leech-craft and her great work? The answer was immediately obvious: she both Ginny and a Leech. She was 'Ginny, The Leech' just as Harry would always be 'Harry, The Champion'. To be their true selves, they had to be what they were, and the work that they each had to accomplish was as entwined as their lives.

She pulled Harry back to her, and kissed him. There was no hesitation this time, no surprise and nothing tentative about it. It was celebration and acceptance, and the promise of more to come, but mostly it was warmth. With this kiss, every second before now seemed cold, drab, and austere. As the moment ended, and they broke away to catch their breath, and retreated into their own thoughts, the world seemed more alive, the colors more vibrant, and the future full of promise.

Harry led her back to the kitchen. "Dinner's almost ready, and Sirius should be here soon." Ginny watched in amazement as Harry maneuvered around the kitchen with his own clever kind of efficiency. It was a matter of timing and balance, he explained, and a lot of practice. When everything was complete, he brought tea and sat at the table with Ginny. The serious expression had returned to his face.

"I'm going back to the war," Harry said.

Ginny nodded. "I never doubted that," she answered.

"I'm not going back as a figurehead though," Harry continued. "Probably not even to fight, but I'm going to do something, something meaningful and something real."

"What if you could back as a warrior and a champion?" Ginny asked.

"I would go in a second," Harry answered. "But part of my healing has been to accept the reality of my situation. I no longer feel helpless, but there are limits I have to respect. My days as a warrior are over."

"Not necessarily," replied Ginny. "There is a way you can be restored, made whole again."

"Please, Ginny," Harry asked with pain in his eyes. "I can't deal with maybes or false hopes. I have to accept this and carry on the best I can."

"It's true, Harry," Ginny said calmly. "It's why I left and why I was gone for so long. I learned some very ancient magic, and among other things, I can create a new hand for you – one that will function just as your old one did. You can be whole again."

Harry shook his head. "How is that possible? Why couldn't Madame Pomfrey do it?"

"It's very, very old magic, and it's only been done once before – well, twice sort of, and only two have ever known how. I'm the third."

"You can really do this?" Harry asked incredulously. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the end of his right arm, where his hand had once been. "What do I have to do?"

"The knowledge didn't come without a price, and the new hand won't either. I accepted it, but you are under no obligation to do the same. It requires a lifelong commitment, and once agreed to, the penalty for failure is death."

"Why would you agree to such a thing, Ginny?" Harry's face became one of concern. "I won't allow you to take such actions on my behalf. Get out of the bargain. I won't accept anything that requires you to put your life on the line."

"You don't have a choice, Harry." Ginny said firmly, seeming to grow in stature. "The choice was mine to make, and once made can't be unmade. At the beginning, I was doing it for you, but by the time my training was complete, it became something I decided to do for myself. You are very dear to me, Harry, but you are no longer my only concern. I'm going to join the war too. We can do it together, as partners, or I will go alone, and you can go roll bandages, or whatever it is you feel suits you best."

"Promise me you'll never do such a thing again," Harry said gravely.

"I promise you no such thing," Ginny returned. "You're choice is this: accept the hand I can create for you, and swear an oath of your own, or refuse and do what you feel best. Either way, I am going to join the fight. I am The Leech, and I have a job to do."

"What oath do I have to take?" Harry demanded.

"You must swear yourself to be the Champion and protector of England, both the land and its people. You will be the sword and hammer to its enemies. Your fate and England's will be the same. Once you swear this oath, you can never leave England or refuse to defend her, on pain of death."

"And what is your role in this?" Harry asked his voice softer.

"You will be the sword, and I will be the healing draught," answered Ginny. "My oath was much the same as yours."

"And we'll work together?"

"I never want to be anywhere you aren't," replied Ginny.

"Then I accept." Harry answered solemnly.

Ginny nodded. "I'll start working on it tomorrow, then. I'll need help to gather the materials, and it will take a few days.

"Anything," answered Harry. "Whatever I can't do, I'm sure Sirius will help with."

Sirius was, in fact, overjoyed to see Ginny again. Over a happy meal, they caught up on news and old times. With Harry in high spirits, it was the happy home she had always imagined. Harry and Sirius had a running joke about gnomes that she didn't get, but it was good to see Harry laugh for a change. Even Harry's cooking was good.

The next morning Ginny gave Sirius a list of the materials she would need for the crafting of Harry's hand. Sirius departed immediately to work on it. Meanwhile she set out to gathering the herbs that would be required. Harry accompanied her, and she taught him to recognize the various plants she was looking for. She introduced him to the trees and birds, and to the land itself. Harry learned quickly, as if he had a natural affinity for such things.

Later that evening, Sirius returned with the materials and ingredients she had requested. The next morning she began work in earnest, she drew blood from Harry to mix with the silver and locks of his hair, and began to shape the silver. Harry became her willing apprentice, and she frequently sent him out into the field to gather herbs. For three days, she never left her cauldrons. Each day was a continuous stream of stirring, adding and preparing ingredients, incantations and chants. At the end of the third day, the hand was crafted and she slept.

After almost twenty-four hours of sleep, she awoke. Harry fed her a large meal and then she summoned him for the next phase. Harry was ritually and elementally cleansed before the ritual began. Ginny placed on him the geas required by Diancecht, and then began the magic of joining Harry and the hand she had created. This ritual took three more days, and was a time of great pain for Harry as nerves were awakened, and sinew and bone knitted and were assimilated only by force of magic. At the end of the third day, they were both exhausted and slept.

Ginny awoke to find Harry in the garden flexing his new hand, brandishing his wand and casting spells. She watched him from the shadows as he exercised, and admired the grace of his motions, something she had never seen or noticed before. There was a grim determination that frightened her and fascinated her at the same time. She had never seen Harry in action since he had taken the sword of Gryffindor, but couldn't imagine that he approached his training with such ferocity. She almost pitied his enemies.

When Harry finished his work out, he came inside to find that Ginny had made breakfast for him. He smiled at her and ate with gusto, still using his left hand out of habit.

"Well, is the work to your satisfaction?" Ginny inquired.

Harry nodded. "It's a miracle. A bit heavier than the original, but truly amazing. I don't know how to thank you enough."

Ginny smiled. "You already have. If you feel the need to thank me more though, I'm sure we can work something out."

Harry answered her with a grin. "We have a war to end first, but I promise that when it is over, we'll see what we can do about that."

Ginny nodded, still smiling. "When are we leaving?" she asked. He was the Champion, the decision was his to make.

"Today," Harry answered. "Before noon, as soon as Sirius is ready. He knows where Ron and his army are encamped."

"Do you have a plan?" asked Ginny

Harry shook his head. "No, not really – reclaim the sword of Gryffindor if I can, but regardless of that, to take the battle to the enemy. Ron is cornered on the Lleyn Peninsula in northwest Wales and Hogwarts is under siege. Ron's situation is the most precarious, and he still has the sword, so we'll head there first."

Sirius led Harry and Ginny across the Welsh countryside. Ginny called up a heavy mist to shroud their passage and the world became muffled in sight and sound by a gray blanket. Limited visibility, however, was not enough to hide the scars and destruction of war. Everywhere they saw crumbled buildings, scorch marks, and signs of death and destruction.

It was dusk as they came to the perimeter of Ron's army. Sentries challenged them, and Sirius gave them the necessary passwords. The encampment was in a sorry state. More than half the wizards and witches present were wounded in one way or another. Even those not wounded carried a look of resignation in their eyes. Even the presence of three cloaked strangers in their camp went largely unchecked and unnoticed.

It wasn't until they approached the abandoned pub that Ron was using for a headquarters that they were stopped and challenged.

"Who are you and what do you want?" asked the sullen guard.

Sirius spoke for the group. "I'm Sirius Black, this is Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. We have a matter to discuss with Ron."

"Harry Potter, you say?" the guard asked sarcastically. "I suppose the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy will be along shortly?"

Harry pulled back the hood of his cloak and brushed back his hair so that his scar was visible. He looked the guard squarely in the eyes. "No Tooth Fairy, just me," he said. The guard wavered, and then let them pass.

Inside they found Ron and a group of Aurors huddled around a table. The mood here was as grim as it was outside. Every face in the room bore a scowl. As the three newcomers entered, all eyes turned to face them. Ron's eyes widened in shock as he recognized the faces before him.

"Harry! Ginny!" Ron exclaimed. "Where on earth have you been?"

"Ireland, Scotland," Ginny answered.

"We've come to help," Harry said. "We've heard you need it."

"I thought your fighting days were over." Ron said defensively.

Harry cast back his cloak and for the first time revealed his silver hand. "Things have changed and I can fight again. I gave my sword to you freely, but now I am asking for it back. Whether you return it or not, I am going to fight - by sword or by wand, it doesn't matter to me."

Ron scowled and remained silent for several minutes, then reached down and unbuckled his sword belt. "I'll give it to you with the same words you gave me – if you think you can do a better job, then please, by all means, do it."

Harry reached out and grasped the sword firmly. As soon as the hilt touched his metal hand, it began to vibrate and sing out, even through its scabbard. Harry secured the belt around his waist, and wrapped himself back in his cloak. "The battle will be in the morning," he said and turned towards the door. Ginny turned to follow him

"Wait!" Ron objected. "Don't you want to see the map? You need a strategy…"

Harry stopped, paused, then turned around. "Yes," he answered. "I'd like to see the map. Show me where the enemy is."

Ron, back in his element, showed Harry the map, the locations of his forces and the last known positions of their opponents. "From reports of the enemy massing, we are expecting attacks along this line, most likely as feints, then a main assault here. No attack is really expected before tomorrow evening. Draco likes to use the cover of darkness, and some of his troops don't work so well in the daylight, if you catch my drift…"

"Draco is leading Voldemort's army?" Harry asked in disbelief. Ron nodded in answer. "These troops here…" Harry asked, pointing at the map. "What are they doing?"

"Forward screen and decoy," Ron answered.

"And if Draco attacks them?" asked Harry.

"We have five to ten minutes of warning we wouldn't have had otherwise."

"Call them back," Harry ordered. Ron started to object, but Harry cut him short. "Do it!" Ron sent a runner to fetch an owl. "Call everyone back while you're at it. We attack in the morning."

"You're going to attack?" Ron asked in disbelief. "Are you insane? We're outnumbered three to one, poorly provisioned, wounded, and tired. We won't stand a chance."

"I can help there," Ginny said. Ron glared at her, but Ginny seemed not to notice. "I need a few helpers and a place to work." Ron summoned more messengers to help her, and Ginny left.

"I'll put it this way," replied Harry, not to Ron, but to the others in the room. "At dawn I am going to confront the Dark Army. If I have to go alone, then I'll go alone, but anyone who wants to join me is welcome."

"It's about time we go on the offensive," remarked an Auror. "I'm with you, and so is my company."

"Maybe we'll die," observed another, "but we're cornered already. We might as well go on our choosing, instead of Lord Effing-You-Know-Who."

One by one, each of the captains present pledged their support. When the last had spoken, even Ron relented. "It's bloody insane, but at least it'll be over with."

…

Ginny was shown to a pavilion, just off the Village Square. Once there, she called for firewood and such provisions as could be gathered. When these arrived, she put Diancecht's Cauldron on the boil and the smell of hot food soon brought a crowd. True to the magic promised by her teacher, the cauldron fed many more than would be believed. Once the food was being served, Ginny moved to the fountain in the square, added herbs, and began to summon healing magic from the earth itself. She passed out the healing elixir to all that passed. The consecrated water was enough to heal all but the most serious wounds.

Word spread through the army at lightning speed. Harry came to join her in her efforts, and ladled out the food, with words of encouragement for all. Invigorated by full stomachs, and strengthened by Ginny's magic, the general mood changed. Bravado took over and faces once downcast became bright. Sirius went about rounding up any that might not have heard the news, and did his best to build up excitement for the next day's battle.

The walking wounded seen to, Ginny turned her efforts to the more seriously injured. Using the full range of her Leech-craft, bones were re-knit, strength replenished, wounds closed, and poisons purged. Close to midnight, she finished with the last of the casualties, and returned to the square to find Harry telling stories before a rapt audience. For the second time that day, she found herself watching him from a distance, amazed at the person she saw. This was a different Harry – strong, sure of himself, and not afraid to assert himself. It was a miraculous transformation, and she was proud that she'd had a part in bringing it about.

Exhausted, Ginny went to stand by his side. Harry smiled broadly at her, put his arm around her as she approached, and kissed her on the cheek. The crowd cheered for both of them. Harry brought his story to a close and excused himself. He promised to see them all again in the morning. Arm in arm, Harry and Ginny returned to the Headquarters where room had been prepared for them.

"You were amazing, Harry," Ginny said to him once they were alone.

Harry blushed. "I didn't do anything, you did the real work."

"For me, it's something I do," Ginny countered. "With you it's different – it's what you are that matters."

"Whatever I am, you made me," Harry answered softly.

Ginny shook her head. "You were different before I got back…"

"I don't mean this," Harry replied, holding up his silver hand. "I mean here," he said tapping his chest. "Sirius helped too, but whatever strength or good you see in me is a reflection of yourself."

Ginny wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him with fire and passion. "I love you, Harry."

Harry held her tightly against himself. "I love you too, Ginny. When this war is over, my new mission is going will be to show you just how much you mean to me." Ginny kissed him again and they sat beside the fire, warmed from with in and without, until sleep finally claimed them.

Draco awoke before dawn as he usually did, dressed and went to the dining room. Instead of his House Elf serving breakfast, he found Lord Voldemort sitting at the table. Draco stiffened and greeted him formally. The Dark Lord was saccharine and magnanimous, insisting that Draco sit and join him. The House Elf was summoned and ordered to bring breakfast. Draco picked at his food gingerly while Voldemort ate with gusto.

"I've come to join the final battle," Lord Voldemort declared. "This will be the final battle, will it not?"

"Yes, M'lord" Draco answered. "The enemy is tired, battered and cornered with no where to run. Their only possible refuge is Hogwarts, and that, of course, is under siege. When Weasley is defeated, all efforts can be turned there, and resistance crushed."

The Dark Lord smiled. "You've done surprisingly well. I particularly liked the way you handled McInnis. It was a test, you know, and I rather doubted you had it in you to handle it properly."

Draco bowed to his master, but inwardly seethed.

"You have proved yourself most useful to me. I have decided to name you my heir and second in command. Do not, however, consider this a license for blind ambition. I know that you have been maneuvering behind my back. Such things are to be expected, however. Remember that you continue to live solely at my whim, heir or not. I will still destroy you should you fail or betray me."

Draco was dumbfounded. This was far greater success than he had allowed himself to hope for. "I am most grateful, M'lord. I remain your faithful and loyal servant. "

"I'm sure," drawled Lord Voldemort. "Now tell me of your plans to crush the upstarts. When does the battle start?"

"This evening," declared Draco. "I plan to use the cover of darkness. This will be little more than a mop up operation. They may fight a little harder than normal, knowing this is the end, but as usual, I have a few surprises planned for them."

Voldemort nodded and listened to Draco's order of battle plans and strategies. Intelligence reports were revealed as to the disposition of the enemy. When they were finished, Draco called for tea, and ordered the House Elf to open the drapes. Out side the world was still dark, and a thick fog lay on the land, promising that even the sun's imminent rise would bring little light.

"Blasted fog," cursed Draco. "The sooner I leave Wales, the better. If this doesn't lift, we'll have to delay the attack"

The Dark Lord scowled at the comment, but said nothing. Dim explosions were heard in the background but neither paid them any mind. Instead they drank their tea, and began to develop plans for the assault on Hogwarts. Their tranquility was shattered was short-lived and shattered when a panting messenger burst into the room.

"Sir, we're under attack!" the messenger exclaimed.

"Impossible," declared Draco. "Weasley would never attack with such a meager force…"

"It's true, sir," insisted the messenger. "I saw them myself. McNair is practically over run"

Draco grabbed his cloak and rushed outside. He started shouting orders, and slowly the camp came to life. The sounds of battle intensified from a distant rumble into a crashing roar. Death Eaters and other creatures began to trickle back, many wounded and dazed. Draco assembled a vanguard around himself and Lord Voldemort and began to move towards the noise, the fog was still so thick that sight was almost a useless sense.

Harry woke at 4 AM by the clock on the wall. He put a kettle of tea on the boil, and gathered up some biscuits, then gently roused Ginny. She smiled at him as she opened her eyes, and gave him a quick kiss. She then set about smoothing the wrinkles out of her robe as best she could.

They ate a quick breakfast before heading down to the common room, to find Ron and the other officers waiting for him.

"If you hadn't so obviously slept in your clothes," observed Ron, "you'd have to face me before you ever got a shot at You-Know-Who."

"Stow it, Ron," snapped Ginny. "None of us are children anymore."

Ron decided not to push the matter. "The troops are assembled and ready to move," he said turning his attention back to Harry. "Your lead, mate."

Harry nodded and continued on towards the door. Outside, in a very loose formation was assembled the entirety of the army of free wizards. At the sight of Harry, they snapped to attention and a cheer went up. Harry responded with a quieting gesture. "We don't want them to know we're coming just yet," he said. There was a general laugh. "I don't have a speech," he continued. "Ginny has given us a fog for cover, we know where the enemy is, and we have the element of surprise for us. Let's go fight."

Another cheer went up. Harry, with Ginny at his side, along with Sirius, Ron, and a company of bodyguards led the way down the trail that scouts had marked off during the night. Just over an hour's march later, the army halted to allow stragglers time to catch up to the main body. Animagi scouts transfigured themselves into human form and gave their final reports.

"Just atop this rise," reported a wizard who had been a raven mere seconds before. "A full company of Death Eaters – roughly two hundred of them."

Harry nodded and passed orders back to the troops. He then consulted with Ginny about the mist, and how she felt best suited to participate in the upcoming battle. When all was in readiness, Harry drew his sword and the forces behind him followed as he ran up the hill and fell upon the unsuspecting enemy.

The Death Eater sentries, weary from hours of staring into hazy darkness and longing for something to warm their insides, were quickly overwhelmed. Only one managed to sound anything resembling an alarm. Harry's blade sang as it sliced though resistance, and glimmered with red tinted light as he brandished it. His troops behind him hurled magic into the encampment, catching most of the opposing wizards as they emerged from their tents. Used to being on the offensive, the Dark Army found themselves poorly suited to fight defensively. What little resistance managed to organize itself wavered, crumpled, and fell into a full retreat. Less than fifteen minutes had elapsed since Harry had drawn his sword.

Harry allowed the troops a quick break to catch their breath and reorganize. Ginny had remained at his side throughout the battle but now tended to the wounded. Overall, they had suffered very light casualties, with a mere handful dead, and a score of wounded. The Death Eaters hadn't faired nearly so well though, more than half their numbers were either dead or seriously wounded.

"We no longer have surprise on our side," Harry told the troops, "but we do have momentum. The enemy is poorly prepared to repel us. All of you fought bravely, but this was only the beginning. Now we must face the main body of the army and Lord Voldemort himself." He smiled and drew his sword once more. "Let's go fight."

The army cheered. Harry went to Ginny, still tending the wounded and asked her to lift the fog. "You don't need me to do that," she answered. "You are the champion. The land will answer your call as quickly as mine. Go, I'll be along as quickly as I can. "

Harry nodded and gave her and a quick kiss. With the salt of her brow still on his lips, he gave the order to march. Before starting himself, he stopped. Ginny had told him that the land would answer his call, but he had no idea how to ask. Standing still, he closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to expand. In this state, he found that he could actually feel strength entering his body, swirling around him. The courage and the spirits of his troops burned like a beacon in the landscape of his mind. "Mist," he said aloud, "aid me and my army. Lift yourself as we close with the enemy."

Without waiting for an answer, he opened his eyes, and ran to head of his formation. "No need for secrecy now," he shouted, "Make some noise." In the best tradition of Wizards, each began to sing – each their own tune, and each their own words. Already a breeze had arisen and the heavy fog began to thin and the light of the dawning sun, stretched tenuous beams of light towards them.

Draco had shouted himself hoarse trying to assemble his troops. A daylight fight meant he was denied the use of the Trolls, Ghouls, and others of his nastier, more terrifying troops. He had a contingent of Goblins and Acromantulas at the ready, but this was going to be primarily a battle of Wizard versus Wizard. Death Eaters outnumbered their opponents by at least two to one. Draco had to believe this was an act of desperation on the part of Ron – unexpected, to be sure, but desperate nonetheless.

The screams and explosions of battle died away followed by a tangible silence. A few dozen Death Eaters staggered back into the newly formed ranks. Draco ordered them detained for questioning, but it was a matter that would have to wait. His most immediate concern was to order as much of a defense as he could given the imminent attack. Lord Voldemort remained strangely aloof and uninvolved.

The silence ended abruptly with the sound of singing. A cacophony of voices pierced the gray shroud. It was not the sound of a desperate army, but one ready for a fight. As if the voices had a physical strength of their own, the mist began to lighten, and a stiff, fresh breeze of spring arose. Sunlight began to filter through. Draco gave sent orders to Aragog to assume the phalanx position with his brood. If Ron wanted to fight him, let him deal with spiders first.

The chaotic song grew louder and louder and the mist continued to dissipate. Shapes could now be seen across the small plain leading up to the village. Draco had never come into personal contact with his enemy, and the size of the force, even though he knew it was smaller than his own, gave him a shiver.

"What is your plan?" asked Lord Voldemort.

"To wait," answered Draco. "This has to be a ruse or a feint. It is too simple and too direct for Weasley. He has a trick up his sleeve, and now is the time he has to reveal it. Then, whatever it is, it'll to be countered."

"You are sure of this?" Voldemort queried.

"This is war," replied Draco. "Nothing is 'sure'." A gust of wind came that removed all but the most stubborn remnants of the fog away. Aragog and the Acromantulas chattered viciously at the approaching enemy. "Any second now," Draco said.

The army did not change direction, as expected but increased its speed, hurling itself toward the spiders. Draco scanned his surroundings, looking for some new threat, but found nothing. "It's coming," he insisted. "Send orders for all units to hold their positions."

Volleys of magic erupted from the opposing army, falling mainly on the Acromantulas, but some missing their mark and crashing into the mass of Death Eaters. The frenetic song halted and became replaced by the sounds of battle. Draco watched from his safe distance as spiders and Wizards became thriving mass of struggle.

Harry moved at a light jog ahead of the troops. Sirius and Ron remained close. As the emerged from the scrawny woods, Harry called out to the wind to pick itself up and clear the mist from the plain that was soon to become a battleground. Dark eight-legged shapes became visible. Harry halted, Ron's fear was evident. "What are we going to do?" asked Ron.

"Squash them like the bugs that they are," Harry answered. Ron nodded and shuddered. "I have a request to make of you, though," Harry continued.

"You're running the show, tell me what you want."

"It's not like that between us, Ron." Harry answered. "We're friends, at least as far as I'm concerned. Fall back, gather a company of men from the rear, and maneuver around the village to the rear. I want no lines of escape. Hold your position unless things go very badly."

"Alright, Harry," answered Ron. "Nothing will get past me. If you need me send up a red flare." He then fell back through the approaching ranks.

Harry signaled the charge and battle cries were let loose as the distance to the arachnids closed. The Acromantulas rushed to meet them, hurling poison and sticky webbing to impede them. Harry hurled himself through their ranks, blade slashing great arcs, limbs and torsos falling like rain around him. He continued on, hewing a path through the spiders, intent to reach the other side. Once there, he found himself face to face with Aragog.

"Sssso, we meet againnn…" hissed Aragog, "You will not escape me this time, I will drink your blood and wear your skeleton around my neck as a trophy, young Harry Potter."

Harry made no answer except to bring his sword back to the ready. Aragog lunged at Harry with surprising speed given his bulk. Harry dodged nimbly, spinning beneath his opponent's torso, his sword in constant motion, looking for something to bite into. It found one of Aragog's forelegs and cleaved it off.

Aragog leapt away in pain and fury. He hurled venom at Harry. Rolling out its path, the poison struck Harry's cloak, eating the cloth away where it struck. Aragog grew a new sense of caution, warily circling, and feinting; trying to find a weakness in Harry's guard. Harry feinted right, and then dove left, rolling underneath Aragog's torso once again. Aragog reared onto his hind legs, trying to get himself clear of Harry's singing blade. Realizing that so long as he remained close, he had the advantage, Harry lunged for Aragog's bulk.

The giant spider realized that he was in trouble and began to hop about wildly to get clear of his opponent. Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before he was crushed, went for Aragog's remaining legs. The sword of Gryffindor sliced through chitin as if it were paper. Harry carved through a third hind leg, and the arachnid was no longer able to maintain its own weight. Aragog fell lopsidedly to the ground.

Harry had to roll to keep from being pinned. Having narrowly escaped, Harry paused to catch his breath, and draw in more strength from the earth beneath him. Panting, he was struck by a blow. Rather than being knocked to the ground, he instead found himself being pulled towards Aragog.

"Fool," spat Aragog. "I can grow new legs, I am only temporarily crippled and even that isn't enough to keep me from devouring you."

Confined be a mass of webby strands, Harry felt a tinge of fear. Aragog continued to gloat over his assured victory paid little attention to the actions of his prey. Deftly, using the unyielding strength of his new hand, Harry repositioned his sword and began to saw though his bonds.

"Die with the knowledge that your blood will be the first to contribute to my healing." Aragog spoke. Harry was within inches of his gaping maw. Poisonous vapors wafted past him. "It's a pity I don't have the time to prolong the agony of this," continued Aragog. "But I have other matters to attend to."

"I was just thinking the same thing," countered Harry. His sword arm now free, he brought the sword around in full arc and with all his weight behind it and buried it in the thin sliver of exoskeleton between Aragog's multi-faceted eyes all the way to the hilt. Aragog screamed and writhed in agony. Harry yanked out his sword. Still partially constricted, he struggled to rid himself of the remaining webs.

The death scream of their patriarch had a withering effect on the remaining Acromantulas. The Aurors and other Wizards seized the opportunity, and fought harder. The few surviving spiders turned and ran. Once again the Army of Light stood on a field devoid of enemies. Once again they cheered.

"I thought you said the enemy was battered and beaten!" shouted Lord Voldemort. "I thought you said this was a feint!"

"He was… it should have been. Weasley doesn't fight like this."

"Crush him! Now!" snarled the Dark Lord. "Failure is not an option."

Draco ordered a general charge. The masses of Death Eaters launched forward. The opposing army still possessing the fury of battle stood its ground, and began to launch curses and fire. The two lines met and fell into general melee. Despite superior numbers, the battle was evenly matched. It was impossible to tell, from Draco's viewpoint, which way the battle would turn.

Harry had just removed the last of Aragog's web, when he saw the mass of Death eaters descending on his position. His troops had already started to form up in expectation of the new attack. Already they were laying down suppressing fire and claiming casualties from the enemy. Harry reached out again with his mind and called forth the power surrounding him to help repel the attack. The ground began to rumble in response.

As the Death Eater ranks closed on him, Harry once again became a whirlwind of action, sword in one hand, wand in the other, he threw curses while slicing down dark robed enemies. Scores fell to curse and blade, but there always seemed to be more to take their place. Suddenly the ground erupted and boulders flew into the Death Eater ranks. The advance of the Dark Army halted.

Slowly, imperceptibly at first, Harry's army began to push back the line of Death Eaters. The earth began to spew boulders into the ranks of the enemies, then just as suddenly, a murmur went through the Black ranks, and they turned and ran. Harry, with his forces behind him, charged through the crumbling ranks, passing many of them. Harry sent up a red flare to summon Ron into the fray. It was then he took the time to look around, and saw on the ridges over looking the valley they occupied, the innumerable silhouettes of white robed Wizards.

Harry could see the wizards, but he could not 'feel' them. It occurred to him then, that they were not really there. They were an illusion, most likely created by Ginny. He laughed to himself, and continued his charge, slicing through Death Eaters as he went. Entering the small village that had been the base of operations for the Dark Army, he saw a sight that even now, chilled his marrow: the silvery white hair of Draco Malfoy, and beside him the robed and cloaked figure of Lord Voldemort. Like a man possessed, he sprinted towards the two with no regard for his own safety; another score of enemy fell as he cut his way towards the pair.

"Potter!" screeched Voldemort. Draco wheeled in response.

"You said that Potter was neutralized!" screamed Draco. "How the bloody hell is he wielding a sword and a wand at the same time if he is neutralized?"

"Why the bloody hell is my army crumbling before my eyes if the enemy is battered and defeated?" countered Voldemort with venom in his voice. "And who in the nine circles of hell are they?" he demanded, pointing at the white robed figures lining the horizon.

"I don't know," admitted Draco. "Something is wrong here. This just shouldn't be. Nothing makes sense."

Harry continued to advance towards them, cleaving through their contingent of bodyguards as he did so. His face set in a grim mask. He was a cyclone of death to all that opposed him, and his course never wavered from his goal.

"Do something!" hissed Voldemort.

"You're the god damned Dark Lord, you do something," shouted Draco in return. Normally such an outburst would have earned him a painful death, but Voldemort didn't seem to notice.

"We must retreat," Voldemort finally said. "Back to Anglesey, we'll redouble our efforts on Hogwarts and crush the enemy there."

"What of the troops?" asked Draco.

"What of them?" returned Voldemort. "They will buy us precious time."

Harry was mere feet from them, drenched in blood, and not showing the slightest sign of slowing down. "You're mine," he shouted at them. Both Draco and Voldemort felt fear.

"Not today," answered the Dark Lord, and then both he and Draco were gone.

* * *

_Author's note: First, thanks to Shadowface, Softwhispersnow, and FSI for their consistent and kind reviews. It's good to know someone is reading… Chapter 6 will be posted next week._

_Part 2 of Legacies is in progress now, so hopefully there won't be much of a delay between its start and the end of Part 1. Things are really busy right now, but I manage to get at least a little writing done every day… I have some nice surprises planned for part 3_

_From its inception, I planned Legacies to be my swan song for the world of fan fiction. I'm not absolutely firm on that, because Construction of Light is still knocking around in my head, but I'm working on a couple of original projects, and once you start creating your own worlds, banging around in someone else's just seems kind of futile. Maybe one day, you'll read a story and notice a common turn of phrase, and you'll know it's really me._


	7. Chapter 6 The Fall of Lord Voldemort

**Chapter 6 – The Fall of Lord Voldemort**

Spring had come to the Forbidden Forest. The trees, tired of winter's austerity erupted into a sea of green buds while the noontime sun, determined to do its share, beamed downed with uncharacteristic ferocity on the Highland groves. New life, in all its forms, paid homage to the silent figures passing through its midst. The elder trees had seen many armies in their long lives, but never an army that took such care to leave no mark of its passage or to leave the woods unscathed – but neither had they seen an army led by both Leech and Champion before.

For all its silence, the spirits of the troops remained high. They moved with purpose and determination, the knowledge that victory was behind them and the belief that it was before them as well. At the head of the long line, in long even paces marched Harry Potter with Ginny at his side. Close behind were Sirius Black and Ron Weasley. To look at Harry and Ginny, one would have never guessed they were being followed by hundreds of Wizards and Witches with battle on their mind. They walked close, only rarely touching, for they too moved with purpose, but the air about them was different, as if they were simply on a stroll, or on some errand.

When the forest began to thin, Harry ordered a halt and camp set. It was to be a cold camp, they were too close to the enemy to reveal their presence with cook fires or overt displays of magic. The timing of their next warm meal would depend on the progress of the next day's battle. No one seemed to mind as small groups began to huddle, share their packed provisions, and rest up from three long days of marching. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Sirius did much the same.

"I'm getting too old for army life," grumbled Sirius.

"Since when did you ever act your age?" Harry challenged. "Having a mid life crisis and decided to turn over a new leaf?"

"Sure," answered Sirius, "as soon as you decide to start respecting your elders…"

"The next time we go to war," suggested Ron as he bit into a cheese sandwich, "I say we plan ahead and have the whole thing catered."

"I'm hungry enough to eat mum's tuna casserole…" Ginny insisted.

"What's wrong with mum's tuna casserole?" asked Ron.

"It smells like fish," answered Ginny. "It ruins the whole appeal of casserole."

"Well, it is Tuna casserole," remarked Ron. He started to continue, but stopped and put his sandwich down. Harry and Ginny looked at him quizzically, but Ron made no effort to explain.

Sirius nodded at something behind their back. "Harry, Ginny," he said in a whisper. "We have visitors. I'm guessing they'll be wanting to talk to you two."

Harry and Ginny both turned to look behind them. There they saw three centaurs standing only a few yards away. They both rose to their feet and approached the centaurs with bows. The centaurs acknowledged the courtesy by bowing in return. "We have seen your arrival," announced the eldest of the three.

"Our forces have been ordered to disturb the forest as little as possible," offered Ginny. "If we have intruded, or destroyed anything, we will do our best to make amends."

"Your people have been most courteous," answered the centaur to the right. "That is not our concern."

"Mars rides high in the sky," announced the elder. "The moon is in Aires. This is a time for action; war is at hand. "

"In the morning, we mean to break the siege of Hogwarts," said Harry. "Your people might want to clear out. We mean well, but the same can't be said for Voldemort or his Death Eaters."

"The moon is in Aires," restated the old horseman. "It is the time for action. The dark ones are no longer welcome in the forest."

"I think he means to join in," explained Ginny.

"Does he mean we should fight now?" Harry asked.

"Rest before tomorrow's battle," the third centaur finally spoke. "We Centaur will keep watch. In the morning we will act together."

"In the morning then," replied Harry with a gesture toward their camp. "Would you like to dine with us, until then?"

The elder Centaur shook his head. "It is the time for action, not for feasting. "

Harry bowed to the elder, and Ginny did the same. The horsemen slowly backed up, turned around and faded into the trees. Harry and Ginny returned to their meal.

"The centaurs are really going to join us?" asked Sirius. "I don't think that has ever happened before."

"In the Great Goblin Rebellion of 1612, Centaurs helped suppress the insurrection and were granted leave to settle here in the Forbidden Forest," Ron declared. All eyes turned to stare at him. Ron gave a sheepish look in reply. "Hermione is making me study for NEWTS in case the war ends soon."

"Damn Pettigrew," snarled Voldemort as he paced back and forth. "I should have killed Potter myself, and put an end to this nonsense."

"We have a more immediate problem," observed Draco. "Hogwarts is not falling; we'd have a better chance of breaking into Gringotts'. Potter knows we're here and when he arrives we're going to be between the proverbial rock and a hard place."

"He's close," replied the Dark Lord. "I can feel him."

"We should retreat while we have some semblance of strength left to us," said Draco. "All we're going to accomplish here is having our forces smashed. Morale is bad enough after that last fiasco."

"Morale is irrelevant!" shouted Lord Voldemort. "My forces will fight or die! I'll kill them myself if I have to – every last one of them."

"Listen to me," Draco snapped. "Every victory you've had so far, I won for you. If I'm going to continue to do so, I need an army, not slave labor. If you destroy them, we have no chance whatsoever."

Voldemort halted his pacing and turned to face Draco. "Master Malfoy, you've grown indeed. If you were anyone else, or if you'd spoken one iota less of truth, you'd already be dead. We need a plan. If we simply abandon the siege, we will look weak both to our enemies and to our allies. If we stay, our army will be shredded."

"The problem is Potter," observed Draco. "Too bad you can't take care of him, the way you did Dumbledore."

The Dark Lord, who had returned to pacing, halted and whirled around. "That just might work. Potter is even more vain and foolish than Dumbledore. If we turn this into a war of attrition, one with no easy victory, then offer Potter the chance for a duel to end it all, he'll trip over himself to take part."

"Potter won't be as easy as Dumbledore was. With no disrespect intended, are you sure you can win?"

Lord Voldemort scowled. "Of course I'll defeat him. If by some freak accident Potter gets the upper hand, you will step in and insure that he loses it. Some things are too important to leave to honor."

Draco's face remained a mask. It wasn't a plan he liked, but it did seem to be the most viable option open to them. "I can put up an initial screen of resistance, then fight a running retreat, back to some fortified location. Anglesey is probably the best bet. The enemy knows where it is, but it's easily fortified and defended."

"Anglesey then," replied Voldemort. "I will leave now with a company of Elites and ensure that all is in readiness. The rest is up to you." The Dark Lord left with a flourish.

"A pompous and egotistical rat leaving a sinking ship," Draco muttered to himself. "He's hedging his bets, and using me for bait. Draco Malfoy might be a lot of things, but he is never bait." Draco began sending owls and messengers to make the necessary preparations. There were special matters to be looked after.

Lucius Malfoy stepped into the Headquarters Tent and looked around imperiously.

"Welcome, father," Draco drawled cordially. "Please sit, can I have the House Elf get you some refreshment? Tea? Cognac?"

"Cognac," answered the elder Malfoy. The House Elf promptly brought a tray with two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Lucius sniffed the brandy with disdain before tasting it. "Not what I would have expected, but then there is a war going on. So tell me, how is life treating my son, the famous General?"

"Rather well until recently," Draco replied. "War is never a sure thing though; the mistakes made in peace have a way of rearing their ugly heads."

"Most unfortunate," remarked Lucius. "So why, after many weeks on the sidelines, does my son finally request my presence?"

"About that, Father…" started Draco. "My position requires a certain amount of respect… fear even. I simply couldn't afford the appearance that I held my office due to your influence, or for any reason other than my own merit and accomplishments."

"And that has changed now?"

"Things are at a delicate point now. The success of our cause hangs by the most tenuous of threads. I called you here because I need someone I can count on, someone of unquestioned loyalty, someone utterly reliable…"

"Of course," answered Lucius. "I am at your service… and Lord Voldemort's of course."

Draco smiled. "Tomorrow you will lead an assault on the gates of Hogwarts. Special plans are in the works that require my attention and a trap has been laid for Potter. If your assault fails, you must lead Potter back to Anglesey – Lord Voldemort awaits him there. It is absolutely imperative that Potter be drawn to Anglesey, failure is not an option."

"I understand," said Lucius boldly. "Lord Voldemort can count on me."

Draco nodded and then turned his back on his father. The meeting was over.

Harry and his army charged out of the trees in a wedge shaped formation while, simultaneously, Ron led a similar charge on the other side. The Death Eaters were stretched out in a ring encircling Castle Hogwarts about halfway between the Stone walls and the tree line – far enough to remain out of the range of most spells, but close enough to prevent anyone from entering or leaving any of Hogwarts' known entrances. The walls of the castle bore the scorch marks of previous attacks, but remained otherwise unscathed. Hogwarts was, as it had always been, impregnable.

The strategy was simple. Divide the ring into segments, then squeeze those segments until they broke, fled, or successfully squeezed back. Harry was determined that the last possibility would not happen. He assaulted the Death Eaters savagely and without mercy. With his men behind him, he cut a wide path through their line. When it was severed, the wedge split and began pushing in opposite directions.

It was slow, treacherous, work and every inch, every step forward was a victory. The Centaurs had yet to make their presence known – perhaps the Moon was no longer in the proper house, or Mars had moved on to indicate something else. Whatever the case, it did not seem as if this were going to be the smashing victory the previous battle had been.

New Hope arose when a group of brooms flew over the walls of Hogwarts at full speed. The broom-mounted wizards began to rain magic down on the back ranks of Death Eaters, easing the pressure on those fighting on the ground and advances could now be measured in yards instead of inches. Only Ginny's magic and adrenaline kept them all from falling in exhaustion.

A raven began to circle over head. Harry recognized it as Rhys, the Animagus scout he had met a few days before. He fell back from the front line, assuming that the Raven was bringing him a message. Once he was clear of the fray, the Raven landed on the ground and transformed into the barrel-chested, dark haired Wizard Harry knew.

"Begging your pardon, sir." Rhys started. "but a large body of Death Eaters has begun assaulting the front gates. There's a company of Giants with them. Lucius Malfoy appears to be leading them."

Harry thought for a second before speaking. "Summon O'Malley and Johnson. Have them bring their men to meet me there. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Rhys nodded, transfigured back into bird shape and flew away. Harry took off at a sprint towards the forest to circle around towards the front gates. Almost immediately, he ran into a large group of Centaurs.

"Well met, Harry Potter," spoke the leader. Harry recognized him as Firenze, the Centaur he'd met during his first year at Hogwarts.

Harry bowed to him. "I remain in your debt and at your service. At the moment however, I am in a great hurry to counter an assault on the gates of the castle."

"The time for watching has ended," answered Firenze, "and it is we who are at your service. We will go to the gates as well. It is time that the dark ones should be driven from this place."

Harry was overjoyed. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that. We should hurry."

"We'll gallop then. " Firenze replied. "We will meet on the field of battle." The Centaurs as a unit turned and left in a thunder of hooves.

Harry jogged after them at a steady pace. He ran to the edge of the tree line and waited for his own wizards to meet him. When they arrived, he led them out of the trees to join the battle. They found that the Centaurs had done much of their anticipated work for them. Giants still pounded on the gates, but the Death Eaters themselves were almost completely occupied with the fending off of Centaurs.

Harry sent O'Malley to cover one flank while he and Johnson covered the other. From the gatehouse, the Defenders of Hogwarts, pelted the giants with curses. The enemy found themselves, between the hammer and the anvil. With the arrival of Harry's forces, they ceased to be an effective combat unit.

The white blonde hair of Lucius Malfoy stood out like a beacon in the midst of the black robed Death Eaters. Harry used that beacon like a lighthouse in his endeavors, and his sword burred silver and crimson in his attempts to reach it. The elder Malfoy was very aware of Harry's approach and constantly maneuvered to keep as many men as possible as a barrier between them.

It mattered little. Harry cursed and sliced his way though dozens of Death Eaters. Malfoy's face grew increasingly ashen as he saw his men fall around him. When nothing stood between him and Harry's wrath, he held his wand up high over his head. "I surrender," he declared.

Harry halted his advance. "Call for a cease-fire," he demanded. "Death Eaters aren't exactly known for their keen sense of honor. "

Lucius called out to his men to cease their fire. Slowly the volleys of magic ceased. "I have no sword to surrender, but I will offer you my wand."

"Snap your wand, and order your men to do the same," ordered Harry. Lucius blanched and hesitated. "Do it!" snapped Harry, "or we'll cut you down."

Gravely and slowly, Lucius Malfoy brought his wand down and with a look of great pain, snapped it in two. Similar sounds were heard all around. Harry ordered his captains to round up the prisoners and keep them under guard. He then turned to look for some part of the battle to join.

His efforts were largely in vain. Those pockets of Death Eaters not surrounded and cut off were quickly retreated. Centaurs and Wizards alike pursued them. A mere fraction of the Death Eaters present escaped the field of battle. The task at hand became that of managing prisoners, and one that Harry had no taste for. In what he hoped would be his first and last abuse of power, he delegated it to Ron, then went to find Ginny.

A great muster was arranged, along with a ceremonial opening of the gates of Hogwarts. It was another thing that Harry wanted no part of – it seemed to him as if they were celebrating a victory that had not been truly won yet. Everyone, however, including Ginny, insisted that it was important, something that should be done, so he acquiesced.

Aurors and Wizards lined up in a rough formation with Harry, Ron, Ginny, Sirius and the other Captains at their head. The battlements of Hogwarts were lined with children, mothers, and all of those who had sought refuge in the castle during the conflict, either to defend it or seeking a safe harbor. The gates slowly opened and the host moved forward. They passed through the portal to great cheers and a rain of charm -produced confetti.

Inside the Courtyard the faculty of Hogwarts, members of the Council, and Hermione Granger greeted them. A feast was prepared in the Great Hall and carried out with great exuberance. Speeches were expected and made. Harry and Ginny were given a place of honor at the head table, cheered and toasted long into the evening. Harry played his part graciously, but simply wanted it to be all over with.

The next morning the Council called for a meeting. The entire Council was there as well as Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry. Walpole presided over the affair and again there were a great number of speeches made praising the recent developments in the course of the war.

"We are speaking about this war as if it was over," objected Harry, "and it is most definitely not. Lord Voldemort and Draco Malfoy along with an undetermined number of Death Eaters remain at large. Until Voldemort and Malfoy are countered, all victory celebrations are premature."

"I don't think anyone here will argue that, Mr. Potter" Walpole stated. "What we are here to discuss is our strategy for bringing the war to an end."

"We need to consolidate our position, re-gather our strength. Now is the time for caution," spoke Hermione Granger. "Our forces are few and they are stretched thin. To go in pursuit of the enemy is to leave ourselves vulnerable to counter-attack."

"I agree," inserted Ron. "Malfoy is a devious and capable General. While there's no denying our recent victories, they've just been too easy, and displayed none of Malfoy's characteristic strategies. It all smells of a trap."

"I disagree," stated Harry simply.

"How did I know that was going to happen?" Ron asked wryly.

"Lord Voldemort is running for the first time ever. The Dark Army is in shambles. If we stop to consolidate, so will he, and then we'll have to do this all over again. How many brave wizards will die for the sake of consolidation?"

"In the absence of you wisdom, Mr. Potter," Walpole drawled, "We have had to find our own way. Mr. Weasley has done far better than anyone might have hoped. All of us haven't had the luxury of hiding out for the bulk of the war."

Harry glared at him. "All of us haven't had the luxury of keeping our limbs intact either. I've been fighting this war my whole life, so don't preach to me from the inside of the most secure castle in England about avoiding risk."

"The fact remains that you withdrew from the effort. Are you prepared now to fully accept your role? Do you wish this council to name you as General?"

"No thanks, I've seen what generals do, and that is not what I am."

"Then it remains to this council to decide on a course of action."

"And since I remain the General of the Army," continued Ron. "I say that we regroup, muster any new forces we can, then attempt to corner Malfoy and You-Know-Who, much as they did to us."

"I'm not done yet." Harry said coldly. "Regardless of what you decide here, I'm going after Lord Voldemort. I demand access to the information you have retrieved from the prisoners captured."

"By what right, do you challenge the will of this council?" demanded Walpole, visibly angered.

"By this right," Harry said slamming his silver hand down on the table, "and by right of the sword of Gryffindor…"

"Which this council granted to you" exploded Walpole.

"And does the council think it can take it away?" challenged Harry "Do any of you wish to argue with the magic of this hand?"

"So you will hold us hostage to the magic of the Leech then?" demanded Walpole. "No one hear is willing to reject the gift of a Leech in our midst, is this how you will blackmail us?"

"Ginny is free to do as she wishes, the responsibility of the Leech is hers to carry out as she feels best. The responsibility of Champion is mine."

Ginny stood up and spoke for the first time. "I am the Leech and I am one with the Champion. No true healing can begin until the Dark Lord is removed. I do not withhold my magic, but the will of the Champion is also mine."

The Council members murmured amongst themselves for a very long time. When the arguing ceased, it was a subdued Walpole who spoke. "What exactly would you like to know, Mr. Potter?"

"Where are the Death Eaters and where is Lord Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"The results of our interrogations are inconclusive. The vast majority of our prisoners insist that Lands End is the rendezvous point. There is one notable exception, however. Lucius Malfoy insists that Lord Voldemort and his son are laying in wait at Anglesey. It is my opinion that Malfoy is lying to us."

Ginny began to laugh. "You've been had almost as bad as Lucius Malfoy has."

"Leech or not, I won't tolerate such behavior," exclaimed Walpole

"I stopped caring what you would tolerate back in the Hospital Wing," replied Ginny. "Neither am I as gracious as Harry about the will of this Council. When did a committee ever win a war? No matter how much you talk here, someone still has to go and kick Voldemort in his warty, evil, arse. Why postpone it? Now of all times, when Malfoy has done the hard part for us?"

"Miss Weasley," shouted Professor McGonagall. "Will you please get to the point and tell us what it is you're getting at?"

"Draco Malfoy is double-crossing Lord Voldemort," Ginny said flatly. "And he's using his father as his messenger."

"And you know this how?" challenged Ron.

"The army is heading one way, while Draco's father thinks he's supposed to be heading the other way…"

"How do you know he isn't just trying to get his father out of harm's way?" Ron asked.

"If it were you or Percy or Bill or Charlie, I might very well believe that," answered Ginny. "We're talking about Malfoys though. Draco knows full well that his father would sell him out to Voldemort in a heartbeat. If he was so worried about his father though, why send him to attack the gates? The most heavily defended part of the castle? If Lucius Malfoy says Voldemort is at Anglesey while everyone else believes he's at Lands End, it can only be for one of two reasons – Either Voldemort himself told him that, or Draco Malfoy did.

"If Voldemort told him, it's because he wants to face off against Harry, but if that were the case, the army would be headed there too. The only solution left is that Draco told him, in hopes of luring Harry to face Voldemort, while he kept the remnants of his army intact. He wants Voldemort to lose."

"That's just about the grandest leap of logic I've ever heard," snorted Walpole.

"I think she may be on to something," Hermione said pensively. "It does make sense, but it reeks of a trap."

"Of course it's a trap…" retorted Walpole."

"Trap or not," replied Harry, "I'm going to face Voldemort."

"And you expect the Army to follow you, leaving the Death Eaters free run of the rest of the country?" asked Ron indignantly.

"No," Harry answered. "I expect you to take the Army to Lands End and rip the Death Eaters to shreds, and I expect you to leave no later than tomorrow morning. I am going to take two companies of volunteers with me to Anglesey. I don't think Malfoy will expect that.

Ron huffed. "For someone who doesn't want to be a General, you certainly give a lot of orders."

"Do you have a better solution?" asked Harry.

Ron silently shook his head and slumped into his chair. "Whatever is decided here, I'll abide by," he muttered with resignation.

"Great," replied Harry and turned to leave. "I'll muster my volunteers, and leave in the morning."

"You're as big a fool as Albus Dumbledore," remarked Walpole, "and just as stubborn. If you fall, who will take your place?"

"Let the council decide," Harry answered just as the doors shut.

Draco walked grimly past the guards at Anglesey. They saluted him crisply, but he ignored them. In the Great Hall, he found things in shambles, and Voldemort pacing furiously. Anglesey had never been a cozy place, but now it had all the warmth of a tomb, everything once immaculate and well ordered was now in disarray.

"Where have you been?" hissed Lord Voldemort.

"Following the plan," answered Draco, "or what's left of it… Hogwarts was a rout."

"Hogwarts was supposed to be a rout – that was the plan. Is Potter coming?"

Draco nodded. "Potter is coming - maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Our losses were much heavier than expected. We'll be unable to put up much more than a token resistance."

"The army is irrelevant," snapped Voldemort. "What matters is that we kill Potter."

"As you say, M'lord," answered Draco. He dismissed himself and set to work trying to restore some order to the place. No amount of order, he knew, would prevent the inevitable from happening, but there was no need to be associated with such a disgraceful state of affairs, even in failure. House Elves were whipped into action, and watches were posted.

In his customary fashion, Draco greeted the dawn by inspecting the perimeter. Finding everything in order, or what passed for order, he made his way back to the Manor house to find Lord Voldemort. Within yards of the door, however, a cry of alarm was raised. Spinning around, he found the enemy apparating inside the perimeter, fanning out and isolating his already limited forces.

Cursing his master, he ran for the door. The choice of Anglesey, a site that had already been compromised had been a serious lapse in judgment. Nothing to be done about it now, he thought to himself, but ride things through to their conclusion. Once inside he put up wards that had no chance of stopping the enemy, and sent for Lord Voldemort. They took their positions in the Great Hall, and waited.

A surprisingly short time later, an enormous blast shook the House all the way to its foundation. There was a tramping of many feet, the sound of magic, screams, and then silence. The double doors were thrown open, daylight pouring in to reveal that the entire front of the Manor had been ripped away. When their eyes had adjusted to the sudden influx of light, they found Harry Potter standing in the doorway. Harry strolled in calmly, Ginny Weasley and a retinue of Aurors behind him.

"Welcome back, Potter," drawled Voldemort. "I've been waiting for your return visit."

"I'm sure you have, Riddle," replied Harry. "I'm here now. How do you want to do this, hard or easy?"

"I challenge Harry Potter to a Wizard's duel," announced The Dark Lord. "And I invoke the ancient traditions. No one may interfere, under penalty of death."

Harry smiled. "I accept," he answered. "As the challenged, the choice of weapons is mine. To avoid the problem of brother wands, I choose the blade."

Voldemort grinned and threw back his cloak to reveal a scabbard at his side. He drew his blade, a long knife really, gleaming silvery green, and dripping with venom. The Dark Lord grinned. "Surely you didn't think Godric Gryffindor was the only one to pass down a weapon of power, did you?"

Harry drew his own blade. "Only a Slytherin would bring a knife to a sword fight."

Through the open door, a Phoenix flew in and landed on Harry's shoulder. Harry was shocked. He held up his hand to it in greeting. The Phoenix nibbled lightly at his fingers and seemed to wink at him. The moment was interrupted by the laughter of Lord Voldemort.

"And I thought only Dumbledore was fool enough to bring a bird to a duel." Voldemort smirked. "Even I can be wrong it seems."

"Enough talk," snapped Harry. "Let's fight." He lunged at Voldemort. The Phoenix leapt into the air, and flew in circles overhead. With surprising quickness, Voldemort deflected his attack and launched a counter-attack of his own.

Nimbly, Harry spun out of range. He suddenly had a new respect for Voldemort's ability. He circled wearily, feinting, looking for weaknesses in the Dark Lord's defense, trying to find a way to use the length of his sword to his advantage. Every attack he made was easily deflected.

Lord Voldemort began to launch attacks of his own. He moved with lightning speed, moving his kryss from hand to hand. Dashing into Harry's circle of defense, then whirling back out. Defending himself required all of Harry's skill and concentration

"Come on, Tommy," Harry jibed. "I thought you wanted to duel, not dance"

"Hush, Potter. This blade drank the blood of Godric Gryffindor, and it will drink yours as well."

Harry lunged at Voldemort, feinting high, then striking low, and rolling into a tumble. Voldemort was struck in the leg, in the flesh of his thigh, and screamed in pain. Once Harry was safely out of harm's way he regained his feet, and renewed his attack. His opponent parried, but still took a laceration across his forearm.

"Maybe Godric's blade feels it's time for a bit of payback," commented Harry. Voldemort responded by elbowing him in the face. Harry staggered from the impact and fell back a few steps. Lord Voldemort scampered across the room, drew his wand and cast healing charms on himself.

"Foul play," shouted Harry. "This is a battle of blades, not wands!"

"You are a fool," Voldemort responded. "No Wizard will ever be restricted from using magic." He lunged at Harry, but was deflected. "Besides, I didn't use it as a weapon."

Harry went on the offensive. Voldemort's charms seemed to have done more than simply heal. He moved with more vigor and more determination. He countered Harry's attack and pressed in one of his own. Harry found himself slowly pushed back and forced into a purely defensive role. The blade of Slytherin became a blur, approaching from all angles at once.

Harry parried with every ounce of his skill. The pace was exhausting, and he found his arm growing weary. The Dark Lord continued to press, despite his every effort to escape and regroup. There was a small sting on his shoulder and he looked down to see the smallest of cuts. It seemed truly insignificant, but it began to burn with a fire that spread down his arm and across his chest.

Voldemort's attack lessened as the fire spread and then halted. Harry was unable to use the opportunity to his advantage however. As the fire burned its course, it left a heavy numbness in its wake. Harry stumbled trying to maintain his balance. Harry had the odd sensation of being both numb and on fire at the same time.

Lord Voldemort had lowered his blade, content to watch. "Salazar Slytherin had a penchant for poisons." He said with a smirk on his face. "I've never experienced them myself, but I hear the effects are most unpleasant. Care to share the experience, young Potter?"

Harry's legs felt as if they were made of rubber. He swayed uneasily, trying to speak, but unable, trying to raise his sword, but equally unable to do so. The ground approached him in a rush and he fell landing on his side, then falling over onto his back.

"Remember this feeling, Harry?" the Dark Lord asked. "Helpless and unable to move, awaiting death at my hands? I thought it would be so much more appropriate for you to die this way…"

As soon as Harry began to falter, Ginny raised her wand. Draco raised his own and pointed it at her. "Try me, Weasel Girl," he said coldly. "I'll drop you where you stand." Reluctantly, Ginny dropped her wand.

The phoenix had been circling over head the entire time. It screeched and landed atop Harry's chest. Tears fell from its eyes. Where they landed and soaked through Harry's clothing, he felt radiating warmth. The fire and the warmth struggled for possession of Harry's body. Harry reached out with his mind to aid the struggle as best he could.

Voldemort realized what was happening, and began to kick at the bird. The Phoenix spread its wings and took back to the air. It clawed and snapped at him mercilessly. The Dark Lord tried desperately to defend himself, but the Phoenix was remarkably adept at staying out of range of his blade and circling to attack him from the rear.

Harry lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling as feeling returned to him, permeating each cell. It started as a slow trickle but became a rush. As the rush hit his head, he heard a voice – an old and friendly voice, one he knew well. "Hello, Harry," it said to him. It was the voice of Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor," Harry called out.

"Yes, Harry, it's me. Only you can hear me though…"

"But you're dead," Harry objected.

"Yes and no," replied the voice. "Dead, but not yet passed on to the next adventure. My time and my work are not yet complete. I have this last task remaining."

"I don't understand," replied Harry

"This fight," answered the Professor. "Voldemort must be defeated. I had no chance of defeating him, and alone you had only the slimmest of hope. I chose another path – one that would allow me to be here in your hour of need. I exchanged my remaining days for a single cycle in the life of a Phoenix. Only in this way could I assure that I would be here at this time."

"I am grateful," Harry replied. "I'd be dead by now, without your help." Movement had returned to his limbs and he regained his feet.

"Remember, Harry," Dumbledore whispered. "Flesh and blood cannot withstand the poison of Slytherin's blade. You are not however, completely flesh and blood."

Harry grunted in understanding. There was a scream from the Phoenix as the Dark Lord's knife finally bit feather, flesh and bone. Cleaved nearly in two, the Phoenix fell to the floor as dead weight. It let lose a final squawk, then burst into flames. Lord Voldemort kicked at the ashes, scattering them before turning to Harry.

"You are most persistent, young Potter," scowled the Dark Lord. "But my patience wears thin. Enough of toying and distractions, now it is time for you to die."

Voldemort lunged and attacked with renewed ferocity. Harry easily countered him. He had a new strategy now, and he maneuvered himself into position to put it into action. The Dark Lord remained oblivious to Harry's intent, remaining blind in his anger and lust for blood. Harry became aware of his actions as well as his opponent's on an elevated level, almost as if he were watching from above. It was a matter of orchestration – a push here resulted in a twist or a turn, a feint or a half parry and he was able to steer the fight in the direction of his choosing.

Harry lowered his guard and Lord Voldemort seized the opening, bringing his blade down in a long arc from over head. The blade hit hard, meeting resistance and halting. Voldemort laughed aloud. "So, you taste my poison again, Harry. This will be the last time."

Harry grinned back at him. "I have no desire to taste you poison again, Tommy. Maybe you'd like to take a turn…"

Voldemort looked to see the result of his handiwork. A look of dread filled his eyes as he realized his situation. Slytherin's dagger had not met bone or flesh, but instead was held securely by Harry's silver hand. Slowly Harry twisted the blade so that it was pointed at its bearer. Voldemort resisted with all of his might, but it wasn't enough to prevent its slow approach towards his chest.

Harry pushed with grim determination. His eyes remained locked with Voldemort's, watching as his expression made the slow descent from fear to terror. "Draco," he called out. "Now!"

Draco made only the smallest gesture of movement, before Ginny put the point of her wand to his chest. "Move and die," Ginny said coldly. "Please, give me that pleasure." Draco's only response was a broad smile. He remained absolutely frozen.

When Voldemort realized that no help would arrive, his look went to one of simple resignation. As his own blade pricked his flesh, and he felt the fire of poison begin to spread, he muttered a curse. The unrelenting pressure Harry applied to the blade did not cease – having pierced flesh, the knife continued its course. Steel ground against bone, and on into the organs beneath. Lord Voldemort's strength began to falter, and Harry pushed the blade in to its hilt, then let go. The Dark Lord fell to the floor, eyes burning hatred into the ceiling, until at last even that fire went out.

Harry sheathed his sword and turned to find Ginny. Ginny ran to him and threw her arms around him. Harry hugged her back tightly and kissed her. Their embrace was interrupted by a pop of air filling vacuum. They turned to see only empty space where Draco had stood.

Draco appeared in the midst of a battle. Death Eaters, Aurors and other Wizards were fighting hand to hand, fire and magic filled the air. Draco took in the situation as quickly as possible. The ground was littered with bodies - some dead, others subdued by curses. Most of them wore the black robes of Death Eaters.

Draco cursed to himself. It wasn't supposed to have happened this way. The enemy was supposed to pursue Voldemort, not attack his army. His great plan had failed; he had been out-maneuvered. It was a jagged pill, but it had to be swallowed all the same. All that remained was to cut his losses. He had in fact made a plan for this contingency, one he had never expected to use, and one only made as an afterthought.

Draco gathered those forces around him that he could, gave his orders and had the word passed. This was done quickly, as there were precious few remaining to receive it. One by one, those few disapparated, Draco included, until none were left.

* * *

_Author's Note: Only the epilogue left now for Part 1, but Part 2 is in progress. I'm probably not going to be able to keep up my chapter-a-week schedule. It'll probably be more along the lines of about once a month. I also haven't decided whether or not to post Legacies 2 as a separate story, or just keep adding Chapters. 'Legacies' was, from the beginning, conceived as a trilogy or more accurately as three self-contained stories making up one larger story._

_I hope that You-Know-Who's death was suitably difficult for everyone. The single largest complaint I've received about 'Seekers' is that the big baddie was taken out too easily._

_Anyway, expect the epilogue for Part 1 to be posted next week some time._

_The Novice_


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

Summer blazed across England in passionate splendor. It seemed as if the earth itself were celebrating the demise of Voldemort and the stain of darkness he'd built his fortunes on. A giddy mood permeated the air wherever anyone went. Everywhere, that was, with the possible exception of the council halls.

Harry sat staring wistfully out the open window, wishing he were anywhere rather than where he was. The past weeks had been an interminable series of conferences and meetings, and speeches and presentation. It was against his nature to be a part of such functions, but he found himself with little choice. Ginny, always at his side, seemed just as unsettled and just as anxious.

Why was he really here, he wondered. The fighting was done, at least for now, and this endless talking seemed to accomplish nothing. There was a conceivable need for the work, he could grant, but it wasn't his work. His presence was demanded though, as if somehow it gave some validity to the proceedings. Even victory, it seemed, wouldn't reprieve him from the role of figurehead.

Much later in the day, Harry found himself at the center of conversation. "We must determine what your proper role is to be, Harry," explained Walpole.

"I fail to understand what the question is," Harry snapped. "I'm a Guardian… what's to determine?"

"But now that we have peace, where do you figure into the government?" Hermione asked. "The people love you, Harry. You're their hero. Should you be appointed Minister of Magic? Should you be named War Minister, or some other title?"

"I don't want to do any of those things," Harry objected. "I've done my part, and now I want to go home."

"Your country needs you," countered Grimsby. "We need you. There are things more important than our individual wants…"

Harry was tired of this. He set his silver hand down heavily onto the table. "I am well versed in putting the needs of others ahead of my own," he insisted. "I'm not going away, but the idea of me as the Minister of anything is simply ridiculous."

"You're a symbol, Harry," Walpole erupted. "When are you going to learn that? When Harry Potter is on watch where people can see him, everyone feels better. You may not like it, and I certainly don't understand it, but that's the simple truth of the matter. The war is over, but the need for security is not. You have a role to play"

"You and your symbols," spat Harry. "Everything is always symbols with you… Who does the actual work while this parade of symbolism is going on? Who's making the decisions while I distract everyone with my shiny hand?"

"We are," answered Hermione.

"For Merlin's sake," Ginny snapped, "Why don't you just tell the people that then? They're not as stupid or as gullible as you think they are. Just tell them the truth and let Harry and I get on with our real work."

"Your work we understand," Walpole answered, "but Harry is too valuable to let drift off into obscurity. Government is hard work, it requires foresight and planning, and many of the choices that have to be made aren't popular even if they are for the greater good. Symbols and public perception are our leverage against this."

"You could explain that to the people as well…" Ginny countered.

"And the first buffoon to come along promising them bread and circuses would sweep us out of office," Ron cut her short.

While all of this had been going on, Harry had been deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. "My work is security," he started, "and that work does overlap the concerns of the government. If I'm to succeed, I'll need help."

Walpole sighed audibly in relief.

"It's not going the way you thing though," Harry insisted. There were groans around the chamber as a result. "I am willing to work with you though."

"Please enlighten us then," Ron said sarcastically.

Harry smiled back at him. "I'm not the only one who fought the war," he started. "It's been pointed out several times that I spent most of it in hiding. You have more symbols walking around now than you know what to do with. Take Ron for instance, he led the army – still does for that matter. There's your war hero, and he's comfortable with being a façade for this council. Use him, and I'll talk him up."

Walpole and the other elders nodded in agreement. "What's the catch?" Hermione asked. "What are you going to do?"

"No catch, 'Mione. You two want this, you deserve it too. You're still my friends, and I think you'll do a fine job."

Hermione still didn't seem convinced. "You didn't answer the other question… What are you going to do?"

"I am going to be the Guardian of England," he answered. "With your help, I'm going to the Auror Academy, and I'm going to start an elite corps to counter any future threats. If necessary, I'll accept some public appointment along those lines, but only if it doesn't interfere with my real work."

"You'll publicly endorse Mr. Weasley?" Walpole asked. Harry nodded in answer. "We can make this work," the elder replied, "We accept."

The objections on Hermione's face remained unspoken. Details were worked out, and the discussion went well into the night before it was over. The important thing to Harry however, was that the next day did not require his presence, or any of the following days for that matter. He could go home.

Ron slumped into his chair in a fit of purposeful malaise and released a long sigh. Hermione curled up on the sofa across from him. She opened up her book and started to read, but more sighs interrupted her concentration. Resignedly, she closed her book. "What's wrong, Ron?" she asked.

"He's done it to me again…" Ron complained. "No matter how hard I work, Harry always does one better. I worked hard, fought hard, and then Harry shows up with his shiny hand and wins the war all by himself. Walpole is ready to make him Minister of Magic to the point of forcing him to take the job, and Harry's like 'No, that's too boring for me, let Ron do it.'

"I busted my arse just to get here, and Harry tosses my goals aside like they're so much rubbish. 'I can't be bothered with that petty day-to-day stuff, just call me when it's time to save the world.' He gets all the glory, and I get all the grunt work."

Hermione tried to be sympathetic. "You're going to be the youngest Minister of Magic ever, Ron. If Harry hadn't shown up, the job would be yours, and even though he has shown up, the job is yours. Is it really so different?"

"Yes," insisted Ron, "it is. I only have the job because Harry's too good for it. I'm the runner-up. If Harry ever changes his mind, I'm out. Nothing I've done matters."

"I don't think that'll happen," Hermione insisted. "Not to mention, we have a great opportunity here. We can do truly great things. How we got here doesn't matter - our work will speak for itself." Hermione moved and sat on his lap, draping her arm around him. She gave him a brief kiss, which brought a smile to his face. "Besides, you still have me," she said. "Harry doesn't have anything to do with that."

Ron grinned at her and gave her a kiss of his own. "Yeah, I'm lucky that way. All that charm you know…"

The taxi carrying Harry and Ginny slowed to a stop onto Privet Lane. Harry paused for a moment, standing across the street from the house in which he'd spent most of his childhood. All signs of the battle that had occurred his last day here were erased; the neighborhood looked as it always had. Memories flooded back and threatened to overwhelm him. Ginny read his mood and took his hand in response. "We don't have to do this, you know," she offered.

Harry shook his head. "No, I want to," he insisted.

They crossed the street and knocked on the door. A long minute passed before the door opened to reveal a flustered Uncle Vernon and the long figure of Aunt Petunia behind him. "Boy," Uncle Vernon addressed him gruffly, but stepped aside to allow them entrance.

Aunt Petunia ushered them into the living room and seated them on the sofa Harry had never been allowed to touch before, and after a silent interlude with Uncle Vernon served them tea and biscuits on good china. The silence was long and tangible.

"I wanted to see how you were," Harry finally spoke. "I'm sorry about the damage… when I left."

"Those fr… friends of yours fixed it all," Uncle Vernon replied.

"We've never thanked you for what you did," Aunt Petunia added solemnly. "They would've killed us if you hadn't stopped them. Poor Vernon… you look well though, were you treated badly?"

Harry nodded, but didn't answer. "They tortured him," Ginny took over. "We almost didn't get him back. Another day and I don't think he would've made it. They cut off his hand…"

His Aunt and Uncle were staring obviously at his hands and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Ginny made a new one for me, it's charmed to look normal… we didn't want to draw attention from the neighbors." Harry looked self conscious. "I caused enough trouble here."

"Listen, boy…" Uncle Vernon started. Aunt Petunia elbowed him. "Harry… we… I… don't understand this life of yours… but…"

"What Vernon is trying to say," Aunt Petunia interjected. "Is that you are family, and we accept you. We'd rather not have …magic… in the house, but if you want to visit sometimes, we'll both be very happy to see you."

Uncle Vernon nodded emphatically.

The air of tension broke at that point and became more casual. Ginny complimented Aunt Petunia on her décor and Harry inquired after Dudley.

"At University," Uncle Vernon answered with pride. "He's actually doing well now, not like at Smeltings."

"He's turned over a new leaf," added Aunt Petunia. "You'd barely recognize him." She turned to Ginny. "Is this your girlfriend?"

Harry looked sheep-faced. "I'm sorry I didn't do a proper introduction," he said. "This is Ginny Weasley."

"For a couple more weeks, at least," Ginny said with a smile.

"We're getting married," Harry explained, squeezing her hand for emphasis.

Aunt Petunia gushed at the news and Uncle Vernon gave his sincere, if not totally convincing congratulations. Harry felt odd seeing his Aunt happy about his future, but still, it seemed sincere and he did his best to accept it. Ginny, oblivious, dropped her guard and emoted enough for both of them.

They ended up staying into the evening and having dinner at a curry house. Once Harry insisted that he would pick up the tab, even Uncle Vernon cheered up. Once goodbyes were made, as well as promises to stay in touch, Harry left with a feeling he'd never really experienced before: family.

Draco stood on his veranda, soaking up the sun and admiring the vast expanse of ocean before him. This was Portugal and he loved it, it was not home however and so he chafed at it. This was his redoubt, his ace in the hole to counter the whims of his former Master. He'd built this compound slowly and quietly – secretly, so as to avoid attention.

Draco had harbored no illusions about his value to Lord Voldemort. So long as he was more useful alive than dead, he was kept alive. On a whim or at the random twist of fate however, all that was subject to change. Draco simply wasn't satisfied with that; he wanted something more.

He had plotted and schemed, and politicked, and maneuver – sometimes in secret, sometimes in the open, but always with his true intent disguised. Voldemort's death had been a given; the only variable had been at whose hand he fell. Although he'd have been happy to be rid of Potter, the way things had played out only consolidated his authority.

All was well for now, he thought to himself, but Portugal is not home…

End of Part 1

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Part 1 is now finished, and Part 2 is being written and even Part 3 has had some work done on it. I really hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I've been splitting my meager writing time between this and 'The Construction of Light', so things have gone kind of slow. They are moving though._

_At the end of my stories, I like to write a little bit about how they came to be. 'Legacies' was first sketched out on four sheets of yellow legal paper in March of 2002. The seeds that gave birth to this story were somewhat disparate: I read a fan fic by an author named Irina (Galatea was the fic's name), which although I did not like, was especially well written. One of the things that I didn't like about it was the amount of drama involved – I wanted to write a story that while featuring a nice relationship, avoided turning into a soap opera. One of the things that I did like about it, was its adaptation of Celtic Mythology, of which I am a lifelong fan. It came into my head then to write an adaptation of the Nuada cycle, set in the universe of Harry Potter. At the time, I was recovering from multiple surgeries to my right wrist, and suffering from a debilitating neurological disorder that effectively denied me the use of both hands, but especially the right. It seemed a natural fit to cast Harry into the role of silver-handed Nuada, Ron and Hermione into the role of Bres, and to make Ginny into Diancecht by association. The result, you've read by this point._

_Part 2 should arrive within a month to six weeks, and take a step to about twenty five years in the future._

_For those interested in the influences on my writing: I'm a big fan of Charles DeLint and the way he mixes the modern with the mythical. His 'Moonheart' is one of my favorite books of all time. I'm also a really big fan of Shakespeare, and you will always find shadows of his work in the thematic elements of my work. Additionally, for more technical aspects of development, I frequently reference the works of Joseph Campbell and Frazer's 'The Golden Bough'. I always listen to music when I write, and almost exclusively classical. Without the works of Arvo Part, I could write nothing. John Adams, Shostakovich, Reich, Glass, and various flamenco artists also frequent my CD player. The only pop music I ever listen to while writing is Pete Townshend, especially the album "All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes" – if you look close enough, you'll find constant references to his lyrics in all of my fictions. (Part 3 will open with a quote from that album.)_

_Finally, I'd like to think all of you, the readers, and especially the reviewers:_

_FSI: I'm working on the Construction of Light, which will be the sequel to 'The Seekers' and very definitely Harry/Cho. Every one has cast me into the category of HP/CC which sort of surprises me, because each of my fics has featured a different relationship – at heart, I want Harry and Hermione together, I've just never been able to write that story. Thanks for your consistent reviews_

_Shadowface: I hope you and your Kitty are happy with Part 1 and can stand the wait for Part 2_

_Softwhispers: Thanks for always reviewing and the kind words. All of my HP works (except for one aborted work) are here on the site now. I'm working on some original works that I hope to publish eventually….when I manage to finish them… so I can't post them here._

_Maiden: I hope subsequent chapters have redeemed the story for you._

_Well, that's it for now – In the mean time, I'm writing as fast as I can._

_Charles_

_a.k.a The Novice_


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